


The Root is Expectation

by YellowDistress



Series: Someday I'll Make it Out of Here [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dead Aunt May, Hurt Peter Parker, Insomnia, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Whump, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-05-30 05:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 64,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15089630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Peter was adjusting.At least, he thought he was.The deep ache in his chest had dulled. The pain of losing his last name had turned into acceptance.Life had slipped into normalcy, almost like Before.He just couldn't sleep.And the city was slipping into a chaos that Peter was struggling to understand.(Sequel to 'All the Devils are Here')





	1. Cookie Cutter Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> So, as you can probably tell, I've been off work for a little while. Basically, since finishing the final chapter of All the Devils are Here. This is what happens when someone like me is left with a computer all day, every day for a week. They literally write non-stop. XD  
> I only just finished Chapter One. I've mostly been outlining. But I think I've got the skeleton figured out, so I decided to test the waters with part two of this series.  
> Chapter One isn't super thrilling. Mostly just domestic. I wanted to give a basic feel of what we missed in the jump between the last story and this one. But I hope you guys enjoy anyway! Chapter Two might take a bit. This is more of an experimental chapter to get comfortable with the new plot and mood.  
> Let me know what you guys think! xx

The water in Greece contrasted greatly from night to day.

 

In the day, Peter had found it to be the clearest water he had ever seen. Nothing like what surrounded New York. Pure blue. The most beautiful, like the sky had sunk into the deep sea. All the fish flying through the air instead of water. But at night it was completely different. It was impenetrable. Dark. Maybe still like the sky, just space. Endless, and speckled with stars.

 

He leaned over the side of the boat, peering down into the blackness.

 

Small waves rippled as the boat moved through them. The night air was warm, and Peter’s skin, having been slightly burned from the two weeks spent in the piercing sunlight, made it seem even warmer under the suit he was wearing. Peter leaned his head forward, his hand as well, reaching out over the edge.

 

He was so tired. The boat almost lulled him to sleep. Almost. But he knew it would not.

 

But he hoped every night would be different.

 

His fingers barely glided over the surface. The yacht they were headed to wasn’t far from the shore, but far enough that Peter’s eyes felt heavy. The man driving them turned in the slightest, causing Peter’s eyes to snap open, awareness returning. He didn’t like these parties, but he supposed that going to one rich-people party with Tony and Pepper was the least he could do after they had basically let him pick almost every activity they had done.

 

It had been a good trip. He had laughed more than he had since before May’s death.

 

He had smiled every day.

 

It almost made Peter forget he had barely slept in weeks.

 

A hand touched his shoulder gently and squeezed. Peter’s head snapped up in surprise as he was slowly pulled from where he was kneeling over the edge of the boat.

 

Tony smirked slightly, “Maybe don’t lean over the side while you’re wearing Tom Ford.”

 

Peter’s brows furrowed…

 

“Who’s Tom Ford?”

 

Pepper laughed from her place at the end of the boat. Tony’s expression looked filled with horror. Tony pinched Peter’s ear, and the boy grunted in discomfort, pulling away and pouting. Tony replied, “The very nice suit you have on. Show it some respect.”

 

Peter tugged on the collar and chuckled, “Oh this thing? I thought it was named Straitjacket.”

 

Tony plopped down next to him and hummed, “It’s not that uncomfortable.”

 

“You’ve been wearing them since you were born,” Peter rolled his eyes, “I bet you were brought home from the hospital in one.”

 

The man pondered on that, then nodded in a sort of confirmation. Peter smiled in triumph that he was right. He laid his head against the back of the seat and Tony questioned, “You tired?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter answered truthfully, “I’ve been in the sun all day.”

 

Less truthful.

 

Pepper spoke from her seat, “We can tell. Your cheeks are red, but I specifically remember giving you sunscreen.”

 

“I forgot to reapply.”

 

His grin was sheepish. Saying he hadn’t applied it in the first place. But in his defense, the sea water would have just washed it away. He had fallen out of the sailboat three times in the past two weeks. Once was on purpose, the other two from being hit by ropes. Each time he thought surely the case on his phone would fail him, but it never did. Stark products really were top of the line.

 

The lights from the yacht in the distance were growing closer and Peter kept his head resting, wanting the chair he was in to turn into a bed and for sleep to swallow him up. He kept reminding himself that this party was his dues. They had given him such a wonderful trip. He didn’t want to be that bratty kid that complained while sitting in a pile of gifts.

 

Tony leaned into his line of sight, causing Peter to jump.

 

“You could have stayed at the beach house,” Tony spoke softly, “If you didn’t feel well.”

 

Peter shot up, rod straight, “I feel fine. Honest. Just sunburned.”

 

“Hm,” Tony’s head bobbed up and down, “I mean, it might just be me, but your face is reminding me a lot of when I was in college and had a late night-“

 

Peter made a disgusted face, “Mr. Stark.”

 

“Not like _that_ ,” Tony waved his hand, “As in, pulling an all-nighter.”

 

Maybe that was what weeks of not sleeping gave someone. A look of an all-nighter. And he had pulled plenty of those as of late. Peering back at the man driving the boat, Peter returned his eyes to Tony and forced a reassuring gaze.

 

“I’m alright.”

 

The sound of the boat and the waves and the wind hid the exhaustion. Peter really was _fine_. Getting better, besides the inability to sleep. May had died at the end of January. It was the middle of June. He _should_ be better, he thought. And he was. The feeling inside of his lungs didn’t ache as much. His and Tony’s bickering had settled into a steady home-life.

 

There was routine. When school was still in session, he’d wake up, attend class, patrol for an hour or two, go to decathlon practice, go to appointments with Doctor Middleton, then arrive at the penthouse. Do homework. Eat dinner. Bed. Wake up. Do it again.

 

It was comfortable. Really comfortable. Then school had ended and that had gone away. The not sleeping arrived rather quietly. Like a shadow. He had woken at two in the morning the third night after the last school day. Wasn’t able to go back to sleep. Ever since that night, sleep had evaded him. Weeks of it. Weeks of no routine. No full nights of rest.

 

Maybe Tony and Pepper hadn’t noticed. Certainly, Tony had noticed _something_. It was clear he didn’t know what that something was. _Nothing_ was wrong, Peter would have sworn to that in court. Nothing. But…He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t pinpoint why things had gone so wrong, when things were getting so much better. But who needed sleep anyway?

 

Plenty of people didn’t sleep. Tony didn’t.

 

He blinked and they were pulling the boat up beside the yacht. The voices of the rich were already gliding over the edge to his ears and he bit down the pool of worry. These things never got easier. Because no matter what Tony and Pepper dressed him in, he just didn’t belong there. He was awkward, unsteady, and rambled when nervous. He didn’t go to the schools their children went to, so when they asked he almost wanted to lie.

 

Usually they’d look at Tony, smile, and say something along the lines of ‘modern parenting’.

 

Old money went to old schools.

 

The lack of rocking on the yacht was almost startling compared to that of the boat that had taken them out. A man, security it looked to be, grabbed his shoulder and Peter smiled apologetically. Tony followed and he held out a hand for Pepper to take. She lifted her dress gracefully and stepped aboard like she had done it a thousand times.

 

Almost immediately Peter was swallowed when people flocked to the couple.

 

Peter had learned that Pepper and Tony were quite popular with this crowd. Freshly engaged, Peter had heard them whisper about it being the wedding of the century, possibly more over the top than the Royal Wedding, and Peter dreaded for when it would eventually occur. They all wanted an invite. All smiled and complimented her ring. She smiled back, easy and Peter wished he could be as good at it as she and Tony were.

 

But he couldn’t make himself smile when he felt that small.

 

An old woman turned and pinched his cheek and he couldn’t hear what they were talking about through the blood rushing in his ears. Something about him. Something about school. Tony was answering for him, always did, and if they were anywhere else he would have been irritated. But in this situation it was a wonderful mercy.

 

When it became clear that the questions were mostly about the wedding, Peter stepped away, just to escape the crowd.

 

A golden hue illuminated the boat and soft music was playing as he started to put distance between himself, Pepper, and Tony. He had to be annoying at this point, sticking to their hips at almost every party. Peter had promised himself this one would be different. He’d go and find something to do while they socialized.

 

They didn’t need him clinging every minute.

 

Sticking his hands deep in his pockets, Peter made his way awkwardly down the deck and into the inside of the boat. A few people looked up at his entrance, and despite him blocking out his hearing, their conversations slipped through the enhanced senses life wildfire…

 

**"** _Is that Stark’s boy?”_

_“I believe so…Looks very young, don’t you think, for fifteen?”_

_“Looks like an illegitimate cover up if you ask me.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Dot. Stark has done far worse than fathering illegitimate children. He’d have no reason to hide that fact.”_

_“A charity case is eventually going to run that multi-billion-dollar company…Howard Stark is rolling in his grave.”_

Peter ducked his head, biting his lower lip as he stared at the weird foods on the table. Turning, he narrowed his eyes on the group of middle-aged men and women. They seemed surprised by the sudden eye contact and he frowned bitterly, “The dead don’t roll, _Dot_.”

 

Peter would know. He visited the dead once every few weeks. Shared sushi with them.

 

The woman, Dot, dropped her jaw. The others looked away, and it was cringe worthy. Peter moved back out onto the deck, taking a deep breath and peering up at the sky. Rested Peter would never have said something like that. Would have been able to fight that pettiness down. But he could feel the lack of sleep creeping into every joint.

 

Peter headed to the stern, finding it to be relatively empty compared to the inside. A few guests stood off to the side, but Peter made his way to some chairs staring directly into the dark water behind the ship. Peter plopped down, putting his elbows on his knees, rethinking that entire exchange that hadn’t been much of an exchange at all because _Dot_ had been too shocked to speak.

 

He hoped no one would be mean to Tony or Pepper because of him.

 

Rich people didn’t talk that way to each other. They whispered. And Peter was silent, mostly. He was just tired. He needed to sleep. Tonight he _would_ , he told himself. Tonight would be the night he would force himself to sleep.

 

“Ms. Chester can be a bit of a handful,” A voice to his right stated.

 

Peter’s head whipped in the person’s direction. A man he didn’t recognize stood there, holding a glass of champagne. He was tall, broad shouldered, his chocolate hair smoothed perfectly on his head. He smiled at Peter warmly, genuinely, not like the old ladies who pinched his cheeks. Peter watched as the man sat down beside him.

 

He then continued, “The woman, Dot, I mean. She’s a _handful_. Always. Been divorced seven times. So, I wouldn’t take her words to heart. She was even worse in high school.”

 

“ _Seven_ times?” Peter didn’t even know someone could be married so many times.

 

The man wagged a finger, “ _Almost_ eight.”

 

Peter breathed in disbelief, leaning back in the chair, staring off into the distance. Until the man spoke again, asking, “You’re Peter, yes? Stark’s son?”

 

The boy’s eyes found him and his head nodded. He had stopped correcting people weeks ago.

 

He held out a hand towards Peter, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Peter. I’m Norman Osborn.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He sat up suddenly, taking the hand with his trembling one and shaking it briefly before releasing. Peter stuttered, “L-like, Oscorp?”

 

Norman’s smile grew, “Yes, Oscorp. Heard of it?”

 

“Uh, _yes_ ,” Peter laughed, “I’ve been once. My school, Midtown High, took a field trip about a year back. But your genetics department is _amazing_. We got to see some of your reptilian developments, insects…arachnids…”

 

He hesitated on the last word, but forced it out nonetheless. Norman hummed…

 

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. We love having students come in and see what we’re about, especially from science oriented schools. Believe it or not, I remember your mother and father.”

 

Peter’s breath caught in his throat, “W-What?”

 

Something strange crept into the back of his mind. He rarely gave thought about his mother and father, and not on purpose. But he had been only five when they had passed away, so when he imagined parents, he imagined Ben and May. Not Richard and Mary. If it weren’t for photos, Peter wasn’t sure he would even remember what they looked like…

 

Something sad slithered into his chest. Similar to when he thought of May.

 

If Norman noticed, he didn’t let it show…

 

“Yes,” Norman nodded, “Mary and Richard were brilliant. It was always wonderful when they’d visit Oscorp. They never came to work for us officially, but they assisted us when they could. Very special people, your parents.”

 

Pride swelled.

 

Peter smiled.

 

Norman took a sip from his drink and continued, “Do you plan to pursue genetics?”

 

Peter’s eyebrows shot up, then he shook his head, “Oh no. I mean, I think what my parents did was awesome and I love getting to see everything that goes into it. But, I’m more into physics and engineering, you know?”

 

The man chuckled, “Then you must feel right at home with Stark then, eh?”

 

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted when a light hand touched his shoulder. He turned, peering up and seeing Pepper smiling down at them. Norman stood, greeting in a charming voice, “Ah, Ms. Potts. Wonderful to see you again.”

 

“Norman,” She regarded him with a slight nod of her head, “I’m glad to see you as well. So, you’ve met Peter?”

 

She put a hand on top of Peter’s head, smothering down the curls that he had refused to let Tony slick down with gel. It made his ears look much too large, in his opinion. Norman nodded in response, “Yes, great kid. It helps that he seems to appreciate the work Oscorp does.”

 

Tony’s voice appeared suddenly, “He’s fascinated by the creepy-crawlies.”

 

Everyone’s head turned. Tony was standing a bit to the side, his hands in his pockets as he sauntered over. Norman’s polite gaze never faltered, but per-Tony-Stark, his was less than kind. Tony was smaller than Norman, but it didn’t deter him from approaching fully. Peter glanced back at Pepper, whose expression was now annoyed, directed pointedly towards her fiancé and his testosterone battle.

 

Her hand continued to card through Peter’s hair and he knew she was anxious.

 

Norman held out his hand, “Tony. How are things over at Stark Industries?”

 

Tony shook Norman’s hand, surprising Peter, because the strange hostility was making him perplexed over the whole situation. The entire world surrounding business confused him, because everyone seemed to hate each other, but still, smiled and shook hands like it was okay. No one could pay Peter enough to shake Flash’s hand and pretend to be buddy-buddy.

 

His brows tugged together watching them.

 

Tony responded, “Good. You know, machines. Not really toying with the laws of nature and such.”

 

“Don’t tell me that our research…scares you?” Norman joked, “I mean, you created an AI that could basically overtake the entirety of technology as we know it. What we do seems sort of…minute compared to that.”

 

Tony’s eyes found Peter’s wide ones and Peter knew. Knew that _he_ himself was the prime example of what Oscorp was capable of. The teen folded his hands together and Pepper’s hand hesitated in his hair, moving to his shoulder to squeeze lightly.

 

Tony’s only response was a simple shrug of his shoulders and he said, “We all have our low points.”

 

Awkwardness ensued, and Peter could have cut the tension with a butter knife. He was almost relieved when Norman excused himself, telling Peter how nice it was to meet someone like him. As soon as Norman was out of earshot, Tony walked over to stand in front of Peter. The teen heard Pepper snap from behind him, “Do you _have_ to behave that way every time you see that man?”

 

“If I don’t, who will?”

 

“He’s kind.”

 

“So are those pet mountain lions on television. Until they get hungry.”

 

Pepper groaned in annoyance and Peter cleared his throat, trying to lighten his tone to get the mood back up, “He knew my mom and dad. He said they were really great. I mean, I knew they were geneticists, but I didn’t realize _Norman Osborn_ knew them.”

 

Tony tsked, “You’re not going to the dark side of genetics, are you?”

 

“Of course not, Mr. Stark,” Peter laughed, “I’d never leave you alone in the engineer's world of tortured artists.”

 

…

 

Peter flinched when Pepper used to her thumb to smear the Aloe Vera over his nose.

 

It was cold, and he shut his eyes, fighting the urge to pout. He then opened them, flitting his gaze across the bedroom from his place on the bed to where Tony was staring out the window towards the sea. Peter turned his head in the slightest and Pepper grabbed his chin, forcing him to face her so she could finish applying the gel to his sun-kissed cheeks.

 

“Thank God today was the last day,” Pepper huffed, “You’d be a lobster by the time we got home.”

 

Peter replied, “I mean, I made it two weeks in _Greece_ and only my face got red. I think that’s a win.”

 

She didn’t reply as she put the cap back on the bottle and set it on the bedside table. Peter returned his eyes to Tony’s back and he was still facing out the window. Something was weird about the whole thing. Them being in his room and hardly speaking, hovering around him. He thought maybe it had something to do with the awkward conversation with Norman Osborn, but that didn’t make sense. Nothing had been said to make either of them worried.

 

“Uhhh…” Peter started, causing Pepper to look at him.

 

Tony turned and when they finally made eye contact, Peter’s gaze moved back and forth between the adults. He continued, “Did I…do something wrong? This feels a lot like an intervention.”

 

 The adults glanced at one another and Pepper sighed, “No, Peter, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just…we’re leaving tomorrow and we wanted to talk to you.”

 

“About MIT Prep?” Peter questioned. The summer class was certainly something that was hanging over his head. But he hadn’t thought it was _that_ big of a deal. Maybe it was…maybe Tony really wanted him to do well. But it seemed…weird to be worried about it. He was only fifteen. He was still in high school. Peter had viewed it as more of a ‘fun’ activity.

 

He hadn’t dared to ask how much it cost. That would strip the fun right out of it.

 

“No,” Tony spoke this time, “Just about going home. We’ve been here two weeks and it can be hard going from this back to routine.”

 

What routine? That was lost when school let out for the summer.

 

So was sleep.

 

Peter’s eyes shone with realization, “Oh…”

 

This was about him. About the _inside_.

 

He placed a hand on his chest and insisted hurriedly, “I-I’m alright. Really.”

 

Tony approached to stand beside Pepper and suddenly Peter felt even smaller than he did on the yacht. Under their gazes. Concern was overflowing, and his cheeks burned at the eyes on him, even more so than the sunburn. He weaved his fingers together and he looked down into his lap. Peter chewed his lip worriedly.

 

“It’s easy to feel that way on vacation,” Tony said. His voice was taut. Tony still wasn’t good at this. He tried, Peter had to give him credit, but he struggled _so_ much with being a father figure. With talking about these things. It didn’t come naturally. Not in the way it did with Pepper.

 

Peter let out a sound of frustration. He looked back up at the pair and shook his head, “I’m _alright_.”

 

He stressed the word. Praying they’d hear and understand. He wasn’t sleeping, but he could handle that. What he couldn’t handle was all of their progress being ruined by helicopter actions, smothering him.

 

Peter forced out a shaky laugh, “I know Doctor Middleton probably told you guys you needed to talk to me about this.”

 

Blatantly, he made eye contact with Tony, “The Deflation Plan is working. Operation: Self is going fine. I’m _good_ , Mr. Stark.”

 

Quiet. Both adults regarded him carefully. Like a frail little human. Peter forced himself to smile softly, until their concern turned into acceptance. Tony patted his shoulder. Pepper ruffled the top of his head and he repressed memories of Aunt May. Because now was not the time. Not while everything seemed so fragile all of a sudden.

 

They switched the light off on their way out and Peter laid down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

 

He knew he had promised himself he would sleep.

 

But that would not come.

 

Peter thought, maybe if he laid still enough and went through the motions, he would slip into that land between being awake and asleep like he sometimes managed to do. Maybe he’d sleep a few hours, like on a good night. Images swirled behind his eyelids and he tried desperately to remember the faces of his parents.

 

But it seemed the older he got the harder that was.

 

He prayed silently the same wouldn’t happen to Ben's and May’s faces.

 

…

 

Pepper found Tony on the patio, the sound of the sea hitting the shore breaking through the air.

 

She swirled the wine in her glass silently. He was hunched, sitting forward, peering off into the distance where the moon was reflecting on the water. A glow illuminated his features as she sat beside him and his eyes met hers. She thought, _this_ was when he looked nothing like himself. Nothing like the hard features and the lines on his face. He looked younger. Less hurt. Less stressed. More like he did before Iron Man all those years ago.

 

She hummed, “Admiring your vacation choice?”

 

“Partly,” Tony replied, “The other part is resenting the constant sand.”

 

Pepper shrugged, “I have to admit, I had fun. Having Peter with us made it even better.”

 

Tony snorted, “Yeah, I realized how boring vacations can be with just adults. Then you end up at parties like _that_ one surrounded by people like Norman Osborn.”

 

“Don’t be that way,” Pepper took a sip from her drink before setting it aside, “He was just chatting to Peter. You know he has a son Peter’s age? He’s probably good at talking to teenagers.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, her fiancé scoffed, “His son is a troublemaker, so he’s obviously not _that_ good.”

 

“And you weren’t at fifteen?”

 

“Touché.”

 

The ocean formed a barrier of silence. Pepper could see something in Tony’s expression change. Something from the serene gaze of the moonlight to worry. The lines were returning, along with that incessant furrow in his brow that both he and Peter seemed to share. She wondered if Peter had picked it up from watching Tony or maybe he had always done it.

 

She questioned carefully, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, just…” His shoulders raised and he sat a bit straighter, “Peter has seemed happier here in the past two weeks than he has in the several months since May died. I hate to leave.”

 

Pepper grimaced. She reached out, lacing her fingers around Tony’s hand. She squeezed, explaining, “Of course he seems happier. It’s vacation and he’s been doing fun things every day…”

 

She paused, “But that’s not real life. And we’ve gotta go back eventually.”

 

“I’d keep him here forever if it meant he’d be happy,” Tony’s smile was lopsided. Pained.

 

Pepper shook her head, “He wouldn’t be happy without you here.”

 

Tony fingers tightened on hers. The crooked smile became more genuine with the passing milliseconds before he quipped, “Oh please. You’re his favorite.”

 

Pepper rolled her eyes. Sure, she had certainly formed a tight bond with the boy since he had come to live in the penthouse. She cared deeply for him, more than she had ever cared for another human being, other than Tony. The desire to be a mother had only crossed her mind on fleeting occasions, but her career had always been what drove her to be who she was. But Peter’s existence made her feel almost like a parent. Like she wanted to be and enjoyed being one.

 

It would never be a completely domestic life. There would always be that gap between them. The gap where May stood. But the same space existed for Tony because of Ben. And they would have to deal with that. Get over it. Because no one could replace them in Peter’s eyes and no one should.

 

“At least he’ll have MIT Prep to keep him busy,” Pepper tried to sound optimistic.

 

Tony rolled his eyes, “Hopefully he doesn’t find it as boring as I did.”

 

“Hey,” Pepper huffed, “Doctor Middleton said we should keep him busy. Idle hands make for 'bad' thoughts. You suggested it.”

 

Tony smirked at her, “Don’t get all tizzy. I’m not refuting it. He _has_ to go. All potential students do if they want even the slimmest chance at being admitted.”

 

“He’s _fifteen_ ,” The woman shook her head, “He has years before he graduates high school. And what if he doesn’t want to go to MIT? I mean, I just feel like we should have picked a summer distraction with a wider range of…you know…activities? He _loved_ sailing here.”

 

Tony’s face contorted, “You wanna put him in sailing classes? Like a Kennedy?”

 

Pepper glared, though it was light hearted…

 

“Sailing doesn’t turn you into a _politician_ , dear.”

 

…

 

Peter’s body jolted awake at precisely 2:03 in the morning.

 

Three hours of dozing. A new record, he supposed. Maybe getting sunburned helped.

 

That was how it was. The not sleeping. It was a lot of wondering if he had actually slipped off or if it had been just the darkness swallowing around him and tricking him into thinking his mind had actually rested. There was a slight heaviness to his eyelids, always there now, always in the dark and the light. _That_ was where Peter existed, between awake and asleep, like a small insect, stuck between the screen and the window.

 

Arachnid would be more accurate, but that was too ironic. Peter enjoyed a good irony, but not when he was the victim.

 

Slowly, he sat up on his elbows, gaze falling out towards the window. The room smelled of salt water and sand, along with the Aloe Vera still sticking to his face. Swinging his legs off the bed, Peter stood, beginning to pace. The beach house was silent and when he listened closely, he could hear both Pepper and Tony breathing softly in the room next to him, indicating they were asleep, and probably had been for some time.

 

Their hearts were beating. Neither were dreaming. He had learned that, staying with them. He had never noticed, when he had slept normally. During the school session. But when sleep and routine had collapsed, he had learned their hearts. And Tony had nightmares, when he did choose to sleep, instead of staying in the lab. Peter hadn’t realized before. Had never paid attention. But nighttime brought new worries.

 

He worried about Tony. Maybe as much as Tony worried about him.

 

Running his fingers through his hair, he looked out the window at the sea. The waves were inviting, peaceful, glassy. Calmer than usual.

 

Peter left his room, tiptoeing past Pepper’s and Tony’s. He slid the glass door to the back patio open with the utmost care, before sliding it back. He padded across the wooden deck down into the sand that sunk him to his ankles. He trudged none too gracefully towards the sea, stopping where the water kissed the sand.

 

A wave washed up, soaking the bottoms of his pajama pants. It was colder than it was during the day, biting at his ankles. He stepped forward more, the water climbing to his shins, then his knees. Before he knew it, the water was wrapped around his waist like a belt. The waves weren’t quite large enough to push him back, but when they splashed up they soaked his chest.

 

There was no reason to it. Climbing into the saltwater in his pajamas.

 

The water looked so different at night compared to the day.

 

Stars beamed off into the galaxy above and Peter felt maybe he was swimming in a piece of the solar system.

 

Or maybe, less poetically, it was _just_ because he was tired….

 

 Peter pretended it was the former.


	2. The Devil is in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahoney sighed, then basically whispered, “Did the guy in the mask have like…you know…”
> 
> Peter shook his head, gesturing that he wasn’t following. Mahoney huffed, before explaining further:
> 
> “Did he have…horns?”

Tony didn’t notice Peter had changed pajamas when he came into the boy’s room at four in the morning, waking him to catch the plane.

 

Either that, or he didn’t mention it, and for it Peter was immensely grateful. His brain was buzzing slightly from the few hours of sleep he had managed to squeeze out of the night. He didn’t really feel like talking about it, or why there was fresh sand sinking into the rug. Peter had sat up blearily in bed, climbed out, and packed what was left of his things.

 

It vaguely reminded him of being a kid. Of getting in the car before the sun came up when a long drive awaited him. If it had been up to Tony, they wouldn’t have left until noon, but Pepper had insisted they needed to get up early enough to be back in New York by Sunday afternoon. Something about important meetings Monday and she didn’t want to be completely exhausted.

 

There was a seven-hour time difference though. They were all bound to feel some sort of lag.

 

Toast had practically been shoved at him and then the driver had arrived and packed their luggage. Pepper and Tony spoke softly during the car ride, but Peter kept his head against the glass, the humming in his skull becoming incessant as the sun refused to break over the horizon. He could feel its warmth within the skin on his face though.

 

He dozed, in _that_ place. All the way to the airport where the private plane was waiting for them, ready to go. Peter almost had to peel his face off the glass, and he had never been more relieved to drop down into the soft chairs of the plane. The sun was just beginning to rise when they took off, lifting into the air, the sound of the engines no longer worrisome.

 

Pepper and Tony were still talking about work. Someone wanted to buy something. Tony didn’t want to sell it. Peter pulled his knees to his chest, staring down at the orange clouds. The blue water that they were leaving behind. He could still smell it on his skin.

 

“Okay, okay, whatever,” Tony grunted in response to something Pepper said, “I’m not over it, by the way, I just don’t want to talk about this at the crack of dawn.”

 

Pepper only hummed in response. Nothing more. Tony sat down in the chair directly in front of Peter, casually leaning forward. Peter blinked at him. The teen was chewing on his fingernails. Tony waved a hand, “Don’t do that. You know how many things live under your nails? This is why you only have stubs.”

 

Peter knew Tony was only saying that because Pepper was frustrating him and unfortunately Peter was in his path. But the teen lowered his hand anyway. Maybe Tony had expected more of a fight, because one of his eyebrows raised in question. A silent one, that Peter wasn’t prepared to answer. Not when he was running on so little sleep and the sea water was still fresh on his mind. The hope to slumber had disappeared with those waves.

 

He watched as Tony stood, moving to the seat directly next to Peter. Pulling his legs in a bit tighter, Peter stared, trying to hide the anxiety that was building up, because Tony looked _awkward_. Like, being in Doctor Middleton’s office kind of awkward. Tony looked at the ceiling, then glanced at Pepper who was typing something on her laptop, oblivious to their conversation.

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter sighed, “If you keep trying so hard, I’m scared the vein in your forehead is going to burst.”

 

“Ouch kiddo. And here I thought I was being subtle.”

 

The other shook his head, “What’s the matter? I thought we talked about this last night.”

 

Tony explained, “This is different. Another question. It’s been bothering me…I only see it sometimes. When you’re alone or…”

 

He paused and Peter bit his cheek when the question finally came…

 

“Peter, is it quiet?”

 

Peter was used to the question sprouting occasionally, but it had been some time since it was last voiced. Ever since that day in Doctor Middleton’s office, Tony had hovered over the ‘quiet’ button, pressing it anytime Peter’s eyes glazed over. But that was _grief_. That was the ache that Aunt May had left. It didn’t mean it was quiet, sometimes Peter just hurt and wanted to be alone. The quiet was much different. The quiet muttered things back to him. Awful things.

 

Peter whispered, “No.”

 

“Promise me.”

 

He bit his lower lip…

 

“I promise.”

 

Peter then continued, defending, “I-I’m just sad we have to go home. That you and Pepper have to start working again. And after what that lady said at the party-“

 

“What lady?” Tony interrupted.

 

Oh…right…

 

Peter shook his head, hard, “No one. She was no one. She just said some…stuff. About me. She said that your dad was probably rolling in his grave right now…b-basically due to my existence.”

 

An odd expression passed Tony’s face. Similar to the look he got when anyone brought up the incident with Ross. Pain and anger, morphed into a vengeful beast. Tony pursed his lips and said, in almost an icy calm voice, “Sounds like a bitch.”

 

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter snapped, eyes widening as he glanced at Pepper, worried she had heard and would yell at him.

 

His guardian shrugged, “That all she said?”

 

Peter leaned back against the seat, relaxing when Pepper didn’t react. His eyes then found Tony’s and he nodded, “Yeah. She thinks I’m gonna run the company or something.”

 

Tony made a face, and Peter felt a dreaded confusion rise like bile. The same dreaded confusion that had bombarded him that morning so many months back when Tony had told him about the adoption plan. His legs were falling asleep from being held so close. Blood circulation was lost. He knew he had paled, because Tony looked away.

 

“Well…” Tony spoke lowly, “That’s what’s expected, yes.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened.

 

“Expected of _me_?”

 

His voice cracked, like a twelve-year-old and his face burned. Heart hammering, Peter lowered his legs and leaned forward towards Tony after the man gave a single nod of his head, “No, no, no…Mr. Stark, I can’t run Stark Industries-“

 

“Do you think I’ll keel over right at this moment?” Tony questioned, and even though he was joking, Peter almost responded with a terrified _yes_ , because people around Peter died on the regular. Anyone who loved him died. And Tony had only just adopted him. His fingers dug into the arm rest between their seats.

 

“Kid,” Tony sounded slightly frustrated, as if able to read his mind…his worries, “You’ve got years before I kick the bucket. You have time.”

 

“But-“ Peter barely got to breathe the word out before Tony stood.

 

He poked Peter’s forehead, between his eyes, ordering, “Stop getting worked up over something that doesn’t matter right now.”

 

Then he turned. Conversation cut off. Peter returned his nails to the place between his teeth. That was against the rules, what Tony had just done. The rules that Doctor Middleton had given them. A fatal flaw in the man’s DNA, just like Peter’s fatal flaw to panic over things that weren’t close to happening yet.

 

Peter told himself he’d tattle to Doctor Middleton, but another part of him knew he wouldn’t do that to Tony.

 

…

 

All of it was empty. Really.

 

The remainder of the flight. Getting back to the penthouse. It was all empty space filled with the haze of exhaustion hanging in the air. Peter knew _his_ lethargy was different from both that of Tony’s and Pepper’s. So, when he had told them he was going to have dinner with Ned and MJ, they had been confused. But few questions were asked.

 

Ever since the conversation on the plane, Peter had felt uncertainty turning into a tornado and swallowing him whole. Tony’s words and expression had left their mark on him. In his mind. Burned into his skin. He had made it sound so simple. Expected. Like Peter was supposed to know.

 

But there was a part of Peter blaming himself. Maybe he _was_ supposed to know. Everyone else had seemed aware before him. Even Ms. Chester had known. Peter hadn’t even considered it. Tony had to live forever. He was freaking Iron Man. And Peter was a kid from Queens. Kids from Queens didn’t inherit companies.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t have seemed like such a big deal if he hadn’t been so tired.

 

He rode the subway to a tiny diner in Queens. Despite Tony offering to call Happy, Peter just needed to do something that felt like Before for a little while. It was hot, but the setting sun was beginning to calm the heat on the sidewalk. It wasn’t blistering him. His skin had already been assaulted by the Greek sky.

 

Ned and MJ were waiting, sitting in a booth at the corner of the restaurant.

 

Music hummed softly from the old speakers screwed into the ceiling. Both of their heads shot up when Peter got closer. Ned smiled brightly, giving a wave, while MJ offered a nod of her head. Peter was kind of shocked she didn’t flip him off, per her usual greeting. But she seemed busied by the fries in front of her.

 

Peter slid into the seat beside Ned and MJ smirked slightly, “Your face.”

 

“Hey,” Peter defended, “It’s not that bad.”

 

Ned poked it, and Peter cringed back. He glared, but his mouth deceived him when he laughed. Ned huffed, “You got to skip six practices to go get sunburned in Greece. I’m so freaking jealous. MJ is trying to kill us.”

 

MJ kicked him under the table and Ned squealed as she said, “Maybe if you all didn’t half-ass practices I wouldn’t have to be so aggressive.”

 

“It’s summer, we’re supposed to be relaxing,” Ned whined.

 

“Weak.”

 

Peter shook his head at their bickering, just as a waitress came over to take his order. He settled for just a soda, thinking he probably couldn’t stomach anything. As soon as the waitress walked away, MJ shoved several fries in her mouth and spoke through them, “So, you look like shit.”

 

“Wow, thanks,” Peter leaned back against the booth.

 

“She’s kinda right, dude,” Ned’s face had gone from happy to concern so quickly, Peter almost backtracked, “You’ve been on vacation! Why do you look soooo…Weird?”

 

Peter returned his fingernails to his mouth, before recalling Tony’s words and removing them almost immediately. He explained, trying to sound confident in his words, “Well, we were really busy. We did a lot of activities and plus, I’m jetlagged. And I have to start MIT Prep tomorrow.”

 

His two friends glanced at each other and the part of Peter that hadn’t slept in weeks wanted to snap at them to stop. Stop whatever they were thinking and to stop ‘reading’ each other and him so well. Peter weaved his fingers together, waiting for them to respond. However, MJ only scoffed softly…

 

“Cute. You’re going to a day camp?”

 

Peter poked out his lower lip, “It’s not a day camp. It’s for potential MIT students.”

 

MJ tilted her head, “Sounds like daycare.”

 

He would have continued to argue, but Too-Tired-Peter wouldn’t even allow him to crack a joke, which was annoying. It was becoming an out of body experience. The waitress brought his soda and he had hoped the caffeine would make him more alert, but after chugging three glasses, he felt no different. Just a slight headache from the amount. It added to the constant buzzing at the base of his neck and skull, where it fused together and it took all of his self-control not to jump out of the seat and scream.

 

Too distant. He felt _too_ distant during their conversations. He wanted to tie a rope about them, pull himself back in. But it was like Peter was outside of his body, his head lulling in the slightest from side to side. Responses were restricted to one or two words.

 

It was isolating.

 

Peter tipped the waitress a lot for it to have just been soda, but there was too much in his wallet because Tony gave money so freely. The woman had been so happy anyway, and Peter didn’t need it. He thought maybe it would clear the ice in his chest from the empty conversations with the two people in the world who always seemed to share colorful exchanges with him.

 

Maybe they noticed, because when they walked out of the diner, both of them hugged him tighter. Even MJ. The little part of him that still longed for Before wished that he could walk home with them. Surrounded by the familiar buildings of Queens. He let himself feel that, because Doctor Middleton said he should, but his first reaction would typically have been to swallow it down.

 

He didn’t like letting himself feel things, but in the end it kept the explosions at bay.

 

And now. Now he couldn’t sleep and not sleeping was dangerous.

 

Peter opted not to take the subway home. If he walked too far, for too long, he’d get home and be so tired that his mind wouldn’t be able to keep him awake. He thought. And thought and thought and thought. Stared up at the tops of buildings and kicked himself for not bringing his suit. He could have patrolled. Surely that would have sucked the life right out of him. Made him think too hard. Enough brain games.

 

_Shut off. Damn it, shut off._

It was late, and it wasn’t fair that the streets were nearly a ghost town. That people were probably curled comfy in their beds, waiting for sleep to carry them away. Peter was immensely envious, with each light that shut out above his head as he stomped on the sidewalk. He knew he was wrong, he wasn’t the only person in the world who felt this.

 

But at the moment he felt like he was. And it just wouldn’t _shut_ _off_.

 

He had googled remedies. Tea. Baths. Even alcohol. But alcohol did nothing because of his metabolism and the maid, Emily, who came to the penthouse had found it under his bed. She hadn’t said anything. Had returned it to the mini-bar where it belonged, but Peter had been terrified out of his mind she would mention something to Mr. Stark.

 

The stuff was so _disgusting_ , he didn’t understand how people craved it. How Tony craved it.

 

But he knew why Mr. Stark only drank it in the dark when Peter was supposed to be sleeping.

 

Peter flinched suddenly when a gunshot ripped through the air.

 

He had been walking in such oblivion down the street, that the silence of the late night and the sirens in the distance had been the only things filtering in, until the sharp blast and the shrill scream that followed. Peter stood, completely still, as several more screams from the same woman followed. Over and over. Short bursts of cries, sending chills up Peter’s spine that even the summer night couldn’t fend off.

 

_No suit. Oh you’re an idiot. Really. An idiot. Don’t. Don’t._

But he did, of course.

 

He wasn’t surprised with himself. More disappointed at this point as he rushed towards the scream.

 

Peter slid to a stop at the mouth of an alleyway, water splashing up and soaking into the bottom of his pants. Like standing at the edge of the sea. But this was sickly warm, and Peter gripped the brick of the building to the left of the alley to steady himself from his run. He stared down into the darkness, expecting to see the woman being attacked, however, she was running right at him.

 

He jumped back in surprise, and she bumped his shoulder. He didn’t have time to try and stop her as she continued to scream, running down the street, one of her shoes missing as she escaped. Peter’s eyes then whipped back into the shadows, a large figure engaging two men in a fight. Peter stepped forward hesitantly, only stopping as he observed the way the larger figure was overtaking the two smaller ones.

 

Peter didn’t know why he was expecting it to be some kind of street fight. But this definitely wasn’t that…

 

The man that was beating the hell out of the other two had _horns_ in his forehead.

 

Not protruding from the skin, but attached to a mask covering the upper portion of his face. Peter’s jaw dropped, and he felt frozen to his spoke just as the ‘demon’ person shoved the other two men into the brick wall, causing them to go limp simultaneously. Peter dug his fingernails into where he was gripping the corner, shell shocked. It wasn’t clear to him whether this was a good or bad guy, but Peter had to admit, it was incredibly fascinating.

 

Sirens were approaching. Closer now. But the sound of the man behind the mask breathing heavily filled Peter’s ears.

 

A masked face turned in his direction.

 

Peter stepped back from the alley into the street, wide eyes making contact with the mask. He held his breath, waiting for the man to threaten him. Attack. Lunge and try to beat him into submission. Peter’s body went tense, readying for whatever fight that was coming. The more he stared, the less dangerous he seemed. Peter’s senses weren’t going off.

 

The teen glanced down the street, in the direction the woman had run…

 

Was this guy…trying to save her…?

 

Peter swallowed thickly, deciding to speak first…

 

“D-Do you…Want me to call the police?”

 

It wouldn’t be the first time a masked hero worked in New York.

 

A gruff voice responded, “They’re already coming.”

 

Peter knew the sirens were certainly drawing in. The boy turned to peer down the road, just as two sets of police lights illuminated the street around the corner, speeding towards the alleyway. When Peter went to address the man in the mask again, he found the alley empty, besides the limp forms of the two men on the ground.

 

He too turned to make his escape, however as soon as he stepped into the street, the police car was nearly driving over the curb and the door flew open. Peter jumped back in surprise as one of the officers stepped out, drawing his weapon in Peter’s direction. The teen immediately threw his hands up in response, biting down on his tongue in frustration as he was told to keep his arms raised and to lean against the police car.

 

Blinded by the lights, Peter groaned…

 

Of course. This masked guy dished out the beatings and Peter was the one that would have to answer for it.

 

…

 

“I’m telling the truth. A guy in a mask beat up those two men in the alley. I heard one gunshot. A woman ran off and I was just passing by.”

 

Peter threw himself back into the metal chair in frustration. The man in front of him, Officer Mahoney, looked less than thrilled to be interviewing an annoying teenager. Peter rubbed his face and lowered his head, shutting his eyes to gather his bearings. His headache was singing louder behind bone and flesh and Peter just wanted to walk out. But it wasn’t an option.

 

Mahoney leaned forward and questioned, “And you didn’t see his face? Didn’t recognize him or either of the men he knocked unconscious?”

 

“No…” Peter resisted the urge to chew his nails, “I didn’t see anything. Just him beating them up. But I’m guessing those two guys were attacking that lady or something since the guy in the mask let her go.”

 

The officer scratched his chin…

 

“I’m about to ask you something weird.”

 

Peter’s brows pulled together…

 

“Okay?”

 

Mahoney sighed, then basically whispered, “Did the guy in the mask have like…you know…”

 

Peter shook his head, gesturing that he wasn’t following. Mahoney huffed, before explaining further:

 

“Did he have…horns?”

 

Peter’s face blanched. He hadn’t even wanted to mention the horns because he knew it sounded insane. He had assumed the officer wouldn’t believe a word he had to say, especially after being handcuffed and forced to ride in the back of a cruiser to go in for questioning. He nodded hurriedly in the man’s direction, “Yeah. He did…So you’ve dealt with him before?”

 

There was a sigh. Papers were shifted. Peter waited patiently for the answer, but before Mahoney could go into detail, the door to the small room swung open viciously. A man in a suit that Peter recognized, Karl, appeared. Tony’s lawyer. Peter couldn’t help the way his chest constricted, remembering the trial against Ross. Karl standing in court. The association would always be there.

 

Beside him was Tony Stark himself…

 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

Great.

 

“Officer Mahoney,” Karl greeted, stepping into the room. Tony did as well, moving directly towards Peter, causing the kid to move back a bit in the chair as if he were about to be scolded. Karl continued, “I believe you know you’re not supposed to be interviewing minors without an adult present.”

 

Mahoney watched as Peter was tugged to his feet by Tony. Mahoney held up his hands passively, “No need to get edgy. He wasn’t in trouble, and I’m done interviewing him anyway.”

 

“Not in trouble?” Tony growled, “That why you handcuffed him and put him in the back of a cruiser?”

 

Peter looked at him like he was crazy. Sometimes Tony knew way too much.

 

Tony’s hand gripped the back of Peter’s neck tightly. Karl waved them off, indicating that he had things handled with Mahoney. Peter grunted as he was tugged from the room, keeping his eyes down as they walked through the hallway. Several officers looked up as the two exited into the night, so quickly that Peter wondered if there were papers that needed signing or something.

 

Once they were outside, Peter tugged away and Tony released him. Running a hand through his hair, Peter sighed, “Look, don’t be mad at that guy. I told him he could interview me. I didn’t have anything to hide.”

 

Tony regarded him a long time. Pondering, considering. He then shook his head and told Peter, “He shouldn’t have asked. He’s the professional, he knows better.”

 

The man paused before continuing softly…

 

“You didn’t get involved…Did you? With whatever was happening?”

 

Peter shook his head, “N-No…’Course not, I didn’t have my suit or anything to cover my face with. I’m not…”

 

He shifted, looking at the sidewalk. Everything felt fuzzy. Guilt ridden. Tony looked sleepy. Today had been long and then Peter went and got himself arrested, making it even longer. Placing a hand on his forehead to somewhat steady his thoughts, Peter finished lamely, “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I shouldn’t have hung around to watch-”

 

“Hey,” Tony interrupted, causing Peter to jump at the snap in his voice, “You were in the wrong place. Wrong time. You didn’t get involved recklessly, this wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Still…” Peter breathed, “I could have…I-I’m just sorry.”

 

His voice cracked. Peter wanted so much to just lie down.

 

Tony shook his head, “Stop apologizing.”

 

He grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, gesturing for Peter to climb inside. Peter did so hurriedly, and as soon as the door shut behind him, he leaned heavily against it, pressing his forehead to the glass and shutting his eyes.

 

Tony didn’t turn on the radio.

 

…

 

Tony found the hardest part of being a ‘father’ to be the balance between hovering and attentive.

 

The entire ride home, Tony wanted to pry. Wanted to make Peter turn around in his seat and face him. _Make_ him talk. But the other part of him, the part that knew that digging would only cause the kid to shut down, overtook him. Silence ensued. The boy was motionless. And Tony only breathed and let himself drown in thoughts.

 

A helicopter parent would have followed Peter to his room, sat him down, and made him tell him everything that was bothering him. But Tony hadn’t. He had told Peter to sleep, that MIT Prep would start early. The bags under Peter’s eyes told Tony that the kid needed to get in bed as soon as they returned home. Attentive. That was attentive.

 

Tony was naturally a helicopter and fighting that down was hard.

 

He wondered which May had been.

 

If it were possible to ask a dead woman for advice, Tony would have paid his fortune.

 

Tony wasn’t good at any of it. At handling the worry and then carrying Peter’s emotions as well. Damn it, he worried all the time now. Constant checking in. Maybe he _was_ a helicopter parent, just secretly. Like the people who lied and said they didn’t smoke so much that they actually believed it themselves, even with a cigarette between their lips.

 

He was scared to death.

 

Silently, he sat down at one of the many benches in his workshop. When the police station had called, he had nearly had a heart attack. He wanted to ask Peter why he was walking. Why after everything that had happened with Ross, he would even _want_ to walk down the street at night again. But he hadn’t pushed. Because a helicopter parent would do that. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit angry. He was. Filled to the brim with it.

 

But it wasn’t Peter’s fault. He knew that much.

 

Tony didn’t reach to work on anything. Just folded his hands together and rested his chin on them. Only one day back from vacation and old habits were returning with vengeance.

 

He could really go for something to drink.

 

“You look awful.”

 

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around in his chair. Standing in the doorway was no one he expected, not now, not in a million years. But tonight, especially, when Tony was jetlagged and ready to pull his hair out, he had the urge to throw a wrench at the source of the voice.

 

Natasha.

 

“FRIDAY,” Tony snapped, “What the hell?”

 

Natasha waved upward, “Don’t get mad at the AI, I disabled it briefly. Not… _her_ fault? I’m guessing her, since you assigned a female voice.”

 

She was holding a tablet sort of device in her hand as she approached where Tony was sitting on the stool. Tony stood, eyeing her warily. A part of him wanted to summon his suit. Threaten her until she left. But he hadn’t seen her since they had rescued Peter and something within him was the least bit grateful and that was no way to treat a person who had assisted in the rescue of his adopted kid.

 

The woman seemed to be taking in the disarray of the workshop, because she hummed curiously, “Quite the mess you’ve got here.”

 

Tony waved to the corner where most of the junk had piled up, “That’s not my fault. Peter tinkers over there.”

 

She picked up one of the objects from Peter’s pile, “Sweet of you to share your space. How sacrificial of you.”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes…

 

“What the hell are you doing here? Don’t tell me your other super friends followed you in. First I have to worry about Steve breaking in, now you…”

 

Nat shook her head, “ _Our_ ‘super friends’ are currently overseas visiting someone. So, it’s just me for now.”

 

He scoffed. Turning, facing away. It was as if he couldn’t look at her. The day/night couldn’t get any longer. Any _worse_. They should never have come back. Screw the ‘real’ world. Vacation had been better. Tony dug his hands into his pockets and spoke like a petulant child, “Does that ‘someone’ happen to be Barnes by any chance?”

 

She raised an eyebrow, “Would it bring you any comfort if the answer were no?”

 

Tony didn’t reply. Nat nodded, “Exactly.”

 

Approaching the workbench, she dropped the tablet down. Tony only stared, until eventually she gestured for him to come forward. He hesitated a full two seconds before he realized she wasn’t going to let whatever was happening go. The sooner he got the conversation over with, the sooner he could sleep.

 

He forced one foot in front of the other until he was standing beside her, peering over the screen. A paused video seemed to be prepared and Nat pressed the triangle in the center of the screen. A security video began to play. Grainy. Barely visible with no audio. But Tony was able to make out three figures. Two were larger, dragging what seemed to be a woman down into a back alleyway.

 

They moved deeper into the darkness, until a figure, shrouded in a dark mask appeared. Tony couldn’t make out any detail on the blurry feed, but he watched, slightly impressed as the man began to take down the two guys that had been dragging the woman. There was a flash. A firearm, maybe. The woman climbed to her feet and sprinted away, out of view of the camera.

 

Nat paused the video.

 

Tony shrugged, “What was that supposed to be?”

 

“ _That_ ,” Nat looked at him like he was an idiot and Tony wanted to glare, “Was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. The vigilante that was involved in the Wilson Fisk scandal. I’ve been trying to track him and I heard that tonight Peter had a run in with him.”

 

“How the hell do you know that?”

 

“Why do you ask stupid questions?” Nat’s voice was monotone, “Anyway, I think he is involved with some sort of ‘human trafficking’ that has been happening. But I don’t know which side he’s on. Some say he’s friendly. Some say he’s a terrorist. Never sure.”

 

Tony peered up at the ceiling, drawing in patience, “Yeah, yeah, I remember now. I know who you’re talking about. Thought about pursuing his identity a while back when it was all happening, but it’s below our paygrade so I never followed up.”

 

“ _Was_ below our paygrade,” Nat corrected.

 

“It just sounds like gang shit.”

 

“People are being taken,” Natasha snapped, putting her hands on her hips and looking directly into Tony’s dark eyes, “Which is surprisingly normal in this city, but the rate is spiking. Whoever these guys are, they’re snatching up people left and right.”

 

Both of their heads whipped towards the door when a quiet voice said, “I don’t think he’s trafficking people. I think he’s trying to help.”

 

Standing in the doorway was Peter. His hair was askew, the bags under his eyes dark. He was dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Tony thought he looked like he had maybe laid down to go to sleep, but had crawled his way from the darkness of his bedroom down to the workshop with the adults. Waddling over, Peter picked up the tablet.

 

“Kid,” Tony started to scold, “You should be sleeping.”

 

Tony plucked the tablet from the teen’s hands and Peter narrowed his tired eyes, “I can hear through walls, you know?”  


Taking Peter by the chin, he turned the kid’s head towards the light to get a better look at him. Even Natasha had an expression on her face that said she could see through whatever façade Peter was putting up and Tony was slightly frustrated that she was having an easier time reading Peter than he was. Tony said, “The bags under your eyes have bags of their own.”

 

Peter tugged his face away, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He then ignored Tony, turning to Nat and saying, “I’m going patrolling tomorrow night. I can see if I can find anything in Hell’s Kitchen.”

 

“Natasha isn’t gonna share her mission,” Tony scoffed.

 

The look Natasha gave him was smug and Tony nearly had a coronary right there.

 

“I’d love the help, Spidey.”

 

“No,” Tony snapped, pointing a finger at Nat, “You’re not corrupting him.”

 

He held out the tablet for her to take and as soon as it left his hands into hers he gestured to the door, giving the silent order for her to get out and take herself on her merry way. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed, but moved towards the exit nonetheless. Before she disappeared up the stairs, she shot Peter a soft smile that Tony thought was reserved for Clint’s children.

 

Once she was gone, Peter rubbed his arms, as if trying to warm himself. He breathed, “I thought you were gonna trust me more.”

 

“It’s not you,” Tony explained, “It’s her.”

 

“She’s nice.”

 

Tony pointed to the door, letting out a sound of disbelief as he raised his voice slightly, “That woman wiggles her way off of the radar and she is a _liar_. I don’t want you trusting her. She’s not… _nice_.”

 

Peter bit his lip…

 

“You’re not supposed to be yelling.”

 

“I’m not yelling,” Tony huffed, “I’m…speaking with force.”

 

The man turned and plopped down on his stool again, trying to pretend Natasha had never come in. He didn’t really understand the point of the visit in the first place. To ask for help? Had Peter’s offer to keep a look out sufficed? Peter stepped beside him, flattening his hands on the table in an anxious gesture as he worried, “I can still patrol tomorrow night, right? Because we agreed-“

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony hummed, just ready to stop talking about it. Ready to sit and tinker until the sun came up.

 

The man grabbed a few of the object sitting on the table. When Peter didn’t move to go back upstairs, Tony turned his gaze onto the teen. He looked smaller. Frailer. Pale, but still pink on his cheeks. His eyes were on Tony and the man ordered, “Go to bed. You have to get up early, remember?”

 

Almost like a skittish mouse, Peter scurried onto the empty stool beside Tony. Tony blinked, confused at Peter as he stuttered, almost nonsensically, “I-I just…just thought maybe…I could stay with you? Maybe help down here for a-a little while?”

 

Tony found himself wanting to helicopter again.

 

Peter’s hands were shaking, weaved together in his lap like a kid about to be screamed at. Tony studied him, trying, _trying_ to put the pieces together. Maybe nightmares? Maybe everything with Ross hadn’t worked itself out? Tony could call Doctor Middleton…But Peter might feel betrayed. Doctor Middleton was something they did together. Sneaking under the rug wasn’t fair on Tony’s part. He had to consider those things with Peter. The kid got hurt by such as that.

 

Sliding a few of the objects towards Peter, he ordered, “Get the hard drives out of those for me.”

 

A smile, drenched in relief, formed on Peter’s face. He took the screw driver that was offered to him gratefully, beginning to work on the assignment Tony had given him.

 

_Don’t helicopter. Don’t helicopter. Don’t helicopter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I put the notes at the end this time because I didn't want to spoil Daredevil's appearance. I just wanted to let you guys know that Daredevil wise, the events are up until the end of season one of the Netflix series. If you've never watched it, I wouldn't be too concerned, you should still be able to follow the plot. Love you all! Let me know what you think. xx


	3. Push Back, Until They Push Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter landed slightly above him on the fire escape, just to keep some distance. He leaned forward over the railing and mocked anxiously, “Hey there, Devil-Dude. So, you’re the guy running around getting teenagers arrested, huh?”
> 
> “You shouldn’t be here,” Came a rough response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I just want to thank you all for the lovely feedback. It's always nice to hear what you guys think. I truly learn so much from you all. I hope everyone enjoys the chapter and I'll be sure to update as soon as possible! Let me know what you think! xx

Peter knew what it was.

 

It wasn’t like he was pretending it was something else entirely. Like it didn’t have a name or an explanation or an existence in the vast world of medical science. He knew precisely what it was. But the name felt like a curse word to him because, he could be overreacting. The reason he wasn’t sleeping could be a figment of his imagination. He could just be out of his mind. There were real people out there with that pain and it felt almost…invasive to claim it as his own.

 

_Peter knew what it was._

 

He knew it had a name.

 

The weird thing about it- _insomnia_ -was this: it crawled in silently. Without him really even knowing. His sleep wasn’t sleep at all. It was like he was drifting, but he could hear. He knew where he was. He could feel blankets covering him. Hear the air conditioning click on and off quietly. It came in so empty though.

 

Almost like a secret. A dark, well-kept secret within his own mind. Untouchable.

 

And that curse word- _insomnia_ -was grooming his subconscious into the perfect place to live. _Am I here? Do you see or hear me? Did you fall asleep?_

_Do you just think that you did?_

_How long has passed?_

_When do you have to wake up?_

_Two hours? That’s plenty of time._

_This is the way it’s supposed to be._

And all Peter could really do was squirm.

 

That night was no different. He spent it in the shop with Tony, doing whatever assignment Tony gave him and accepting all of them gratefully, no matter how minute. He was just happy he wasn’t being sent to bed to stare at the ceiling in the dark. Where his brain would buzz until he was ready to pull out his hair.

 

Still, Peter tiptoed around Tony through the hours that passed. He was doing his best not to let on that something was very, very off. Secretly and silently. So, he forced smiles. Tried not to let on how exhausted he was. Tony asked, every hour on the hour _, “Sure you’re not tired, kid?”_

He’d laugh. Shaky. Tell Tony he was fine and continue on with his little assignments.

 

If someone had asked him where in the night he had fallen asleep on the floor in the corner of the workshop, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them.

 

Peter remembered being told to go rewire one of Tony’s broken helmets. He remembered sitting on the floor where all of his other tinkering projects lay in a messy pile that Tony kindly didn’t touch, even though Peter knew the mess had to be driving the engineer mad. He remembered beginning to work. Then…he was in that place.

 

Between the glass and the screen. _Like a spider._

 

Dreams there weren’t vivid. Something comforting. The nightmares never really had faces or meaning, but they were still nightmares all in all and the panic they induced was very real. The upside to them was that they dissipated in the real world. Nothing was remembered.

 

The cruelty was less potent.

 

Despite being ‘asleep’ he could hear Tony shifting things. He could hear the hesitancy in the man’s movements, as if trying to keep the noise to a minimum. He felt when the throw was draped over him. But, the way the thing- _insomnia_ -worked was, Peter was too ‘asleep’ to react. To show awareness. Even though he was there, present, with Tony.

 

His thoughts still moved, just vaguely. Swallowed.

 

And the nightmare came.

 

Not a real nightmare. No faces. No images. Just terror.

 

Peter sat up, gasping, fingers clawing at the throw covering him. His bones ached from lying on the concrete ground. Twisting slightly, Peter lowered his head to hide his eyes from the bright lights above his head. Feet were stepping towards him, then someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

The boy startled, looking up to see Tony staring at him, his face calm. Focused.

 

“You’re alright.”

 

Tony was used to these things, Peter assumed. After Ross, there had been more than a few nights of Peter waking in the dead of night, screaming at the top of his lungs. Lucidness was lost in the dark room. Tony struggled with certain aspects of parenting, Peter knew, but this was something he had managed to get a handle on.

 

“You’re home. You’re safe.”

 

The nightmares weren’t like that anymore. Peter _knew_ he was home. That he was safe. It wasn’t like after Ross, where he could feel the drug burning his nostrils inside of his dreams. The in-between brought nightmares of panic, but nothing else. Nothing tangible. Nothing that Peter could trace and that was hard to explain.

 

Peter nodded and croaked, “I-I know.”

 

His eyes flitted around the room. Glancing at Tony’s wrist watch, he saw that it was 6:22 in the morning. Peter rubbed his eyes with shaky hands. He had only been asleep for about two hours. Tony’s grip on his shoulder tightened briefly and the man questioned, “Was it bad?”

 

“It was…empty,” Peter said.

 

That was the truth. It had been an utterly empty nightmare.

 

Tony’s silence screamed confusion. Peter pulled the throw off of himself and stood on shaky legs before clearing his throat, “S-should I start getting ready? It starts at eight and Happy will probably be here at seven so we don’t risk morning traffic…”

 

Tony stood as well, peering down at Peter.

 

Peter felt so small.

 

“If you think so,” Tony replied, “I was gonna let you sleep a little longer.”

 

_But that thing-insomnia-doesn’t really give sleep. It gives a taste. A taste that is never sated._

Peter gulped.

 

“I’ll be okay.”

 

Before Tony could reply, Peter scurried from the room. His feet bounded up the stairs, two steps at a time, through the kitchen and down the hallway to his own bedroom, avoiding the corner he nearly always bumped into. T-shirt and jeans. Light clothing to battle the summer heat.

 

He splashed icy water onto his face and brushed his teeth. Tried to comb through his messy curls. Peter prayed that maybe now he looked more alert. Like his brain and body had caught up with one another. By the time he made it back to the kitchen, coffee had finished brewing.

 

Staring at the pot silently, Peter considered the bitter liquid a few moments. He approached it, like some kind of animal that was going to run away from him. But as soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, the door from the stairs leading down to the workshop opened and Tony appeared, brows pulled together.

 

“You’re kidding,” Peter was more relieved that Tony sounded like he was joking, rather than concerned, “You _hate_ coffee.”

 

Peter ripped his hand away, and chuckled uncomfortably, “I was just thinking about trying it. I-It usually smells nice, it just…just…”

 

“It’s an acquired taste,” Tony shrugged, dropping some papers onto the counter top, “But don’t do it to yourself. I can’t go a day without it. Plus, you’ll never get any taller.”

 

The boy moved away, “Is that true?”

 

“I don’t know. My mother used to say it a lot.”

 

The elevator made a chiming sound and both looked in its direction. Happy stepped out, carrying a box as he approached the two. He dropped it onto the counter and glared in Tony’s direction, “You know I’m a driver and a bodyguard. Not an errand boy.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tony grinned, taking the box. He opened it, picking out a croissant. Offering the box to Peter, the boy simply shook his head and moved around the counter to the opposite side.

 

Checking the time on his phone, Peter looked at Happy and gestured to the elevator, “Should we go? Traffic will be bad on a Monday morning.”

 

Happy nodded, glancing at Tony, “I’ll drop him off, then come back to bring you to Stark Industries.”

 

Tony gave him a thumbs up, shoving another croissant in his mouth as he looked over the papers in front of him. Peter moved to the elevator, rushed, pressing the button several times until it arrived on their floor.

 

Happy asked about the bags under his eyes on the way down. Peter waved him off…

 

“Jetlagged.”

 

…

 

MIT Prep was, as Peter expected too much.

 

There had been little doubt in his mind that it wouldn’t be. He hadn’t thought the kids there would be normal and look like him and they didn’t. The moment he walked into the giant convention center after getting his nametag, he had been greeted by crowds of people his age, wearing clothes like the ones that Pepper and Tony bought him. Clothes that stayed hanging in his closet, because they were much too itchy.

 

And no one at Midtown wore things like that. No one except maybe Flash and even he didn’t own a ton of it.

 

What he hadn’t expected though…was to be noticed.

 

It could be linked to self-deprecation. Or the criticism he made towards the teens of high society. They weren’t attentive, at least he thought they weren’t. But as he moved into the large room with too high of a ceiling, eyes turned on him almost immediately. Small groups of teenagers stood about, clumped together. But all reeking of a future Peter had never dared to touch.

 

His eyes fell to the floor. The nametag they had given him said Peter Stark and that was weird. It had been a few months since the adoption day, but it would never truly sink in that, for all legal purposes, he wasn’t Peter Parker anymore.

 

Peter tried not to listen in. He didn’t want the same thing that happened on the yacht to happen a second time. That whole situation had been a doozy and if he was going to spend the rest of the summer around these people, he didn’t want to make enemies on the first day by losing his cool. Unrested Peter was irresponsible and short tempered and that, _that_ was dangerous.

 

He moved through the crowds, ignoring their eyes. It was easier that way, to disassociate and not look at them. They had all been born into this. This was what they always knew would happen. But Peter…Peter was still trying to grasp this life. This difference. This guilt of having so much while others had so little.

 

There was an area set up, with random fruits and breakfast bits. Along with drinks. That’s where a lot of the others were hovering, so Peter dipped into the adjoining room where they had all of the chairs set up in front of the platform. The place, he supposed, a speaker would be. They had all been given schedules, and the first asterisk said that they would have an introductory ceremony from the MIT representatives.

 

Peter sank down, back row, to the far right. He was alone, other than a few others milling around. He was trying not to tug holes into the agenda sheet that he had been given, but it was hard to fight the anxiety welling up in his stomach. A small group kept glancing at him from the corner of the room and he focused his eyes away, not listening. Fighting the urge to.

 

“You intimidate them. So, they don’t like you.”

 

 Someone plopped down beside him and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

It was a boy, around his age, but Peter supposed everyone here was around his age. His dark hair was parted neatly to the side, sharp features making him seem slightly older compared to Peter’s baby face.

 

Peter searched him for a name tag, but he wasn’t wearing one. He must have noticed what Peter was doing because he shrugged, “Not to say I’m ‘too cool for school’ because people like that make me want to jump ship, but, the whole ‘tagging’ thing is just a way for people to compare last names and money and I’m bored of that.”

 

“Oh…” Was all Peter could muster. He glanced back at the group that was still staring at him before whispering, “I don’t think they’re intimidated.”

 

“’Course they are. It’s obvious Stark isn’t going to adopt and invest in an idiot. Their parents didn’t pick them like yours picked you. They’re scared you’re gonna show them up.”

 

Peter’s brows pulled together. He looked at the other teenager, trying to decipher him. He looked amused by Peter, but Peter didn’t know why. People were starting to file in and take their seats, indicating it was probably getting close to eight. Leaning back against the chair lazily, the boy grunted, “Stop looking like a sad puppy, Stark. They’ll eat you alive.”

 

“Peter,” Peter corrected weakly.

 

“Okay, _fine_ , Peter.”

 

Peter had hoped he’d offer his name in return, but it never came. Just a silence, that seemed comfortable for the stranger but awkward for Peter.

 

People continued to come in until eventually almost every seat was taken. Peter peered up at the ceiling, an impressive chandelier glowing down on everyone. He appreciated the sudden distraction and movement, because Peter no longer felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. No one was looking anymore and if they were, he didn’t know.

 

Sometimes ignorance really was as blissful as one could get.

 

Peter tapped his fingers and his foot, feeling the same unrest he always got in the classroom creeping up his spine. Just as someone walked out on stage, the stranger spoke quietly, “Listen, you’re gonna have to stop the whole restless leg thing or I might have to push you over.”

 

Peter stopped, but continued to tap his fingers.

 

The man on stage grabbed the microphone and began to address the crowd of students. Peter’s ears rung slightly from the underlying sound the mic was making, but he knew no one else noticed it. It was a long speech, mostly nothingness. Things Peter had read in the packet that had been sent to their penthouse. That they would spend the next few weeks honing their engineering skills and finding out if MIT was the choice for them.

 

The only thing that took him by surprise was when the speaker finished, announcing, “We will now adjourn to the workshop we have set up in the neighboring room. Everyone will need to find their assigned work station and their partner.”

 

Partner? Oh shit. He’d actually have to talk to someone.

 

People started moving almost immediately and Peter looked over, finding that the boy next to him was already gone in the crowd. Peter pushed himself to his feet hesitantly, beginning to move with the large sea of teenagers. He kept his head down. Eyes on the floor until he had to approach a table similar to where he got his name tag. The woman working the table, taking care of the long line of impatient students, looked at his name, didn’t even flinch, and handed him his work station number.

 

There was something comforting in her unchanging expression. The woman who had given him his nametag had asked too many questions about Tony and if he was really going to get married and give up his bachelor life.

 

Awkwardly, Peter made his way through the crowd, reading the numbers on each worktable. They seemed never ending in the vast room, small tech at each station. People were already putting on goggles and gloves and Peter wondered why if they hadn’t even been given instructions on what they were supposed to be doing.

 

Peter stopped when he made it to table fifty-two.

 

No one was there yet, and a small, antisocial part of Peter hoped no one would arrive. He folded his paper up and put it in his pocket, exchanging a glance with a few guys beside his table. They were eyeing him, almost like an old cartoon with their noses raised at his worn sneakers. Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

 

When he opened them again, someone was standing beside him.

 

The stranger from before.

 

He had a disgruntled look, before pointing at the name tag on his chest, snapping, “The assholes made me go get a nametag. That’s what I get for trying to be a rebellious prick, yeah?”

 

Then holding up the paper he continued, “Looks like we’re at the same station _._ ”

 

Peter blinked at the boy’s nametag, surprise digging into his features…

 

Harry Osborn.

 

Swallowing thickly, Peter stepped back a little as ‘Harry’ moved forward. The other didn’t seem to notice the movement as Peter scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He knew who Harry Osborn was. He was familiar with what the tabloids said about him. Harry started messing with a few of the objects on the table, before raising an eyebrow in Peter’s direction…

 

“What’s the consensus?”

 

Peter looked over with wide eyes. He croaked, “W-what?”

 

“The consensus,” Harry reiterated, “A lot of people think they know me. ‘Cause they either know my dad or they see the kind of shit I’ve gotten involved with. So, I wanna know what your consensus is, _Petey_.”

 

“Peter,” Peter corrected again.

 

Harry just stared and Peter shook his head, “A-and I don’t have a consensus. I just met you, and if I believed everything in the tabloids, I would have turned and run the other direction when I met Mr. Stark. Which means I’d currently be in some kind of foster home…”

 

Trailing off he tilted his head slightly, “I did meet your dad though. Just a few days ago, in Greece.”

 

“Yeah that’s where he goes to get away from me,” Harry huffed just as a man with a mic announced for them to put on their gloves and goggles.

 

Peter did so, and Harry followed in suit. The instructions sounded simple enough: each workstation was given an inoperative mini-generator. They were meant to get it up and running within the hour. First station to finish basically got ‘brownie-points’ which sounded pointless to Peter, but whatever.

 

Everyone started working, but before Peter could touch the generator, Harry had started working. The look on Harry’s face looked more annoyed than anything else and Peter lowered his hands as Harry attempted to remove the plate cover.

 

Peter wrung his hands together…

 

“You don’t seem like you want to be here,” Peter commented.

 

Harry grunted, nearly ripping the screws out, causing Peter to cringe. He responded, “And you do?”

 

Peter blinked, his face confused. Harry glanced up at him, before a sharp laugh escaped and he returned his eyes to what he was doing.

 

“Look around you, Petey. No one _wants_ to be here. This is just one of the many events that parents like ours send us to so they can say they did. Let me ask you something: do you actually want to go to MIT?”

 

“I think so,” Peter whispered.

 

“Ah, wrong answer,” Harry responded, “Tony Stark went to MIT; therefore, you have to _know_ you want to go there. Or else your dad’s head is going to twist around on his shoulders.”

 

Peter felt slightly frustrated at the analyzation. Harry didn’t know him and he didn’t know Tony. But the other part of him was being eaten alive by worry. Maybe Harry was right…He seemed confident in his words. And he knew more about this kind of life than Peter did. It was so different from Queens.

 

Harry was still struggling with the wires.

 

He must have been getting angry because his words were filled with vehemence, “You’re new. I get it. Stark is probably still trying to get the hang of things. But once he looks around at the other dads he’ll realize he’s behind. Where do you go to school?”

 

“Midtown High,” Lowering his head slightly, Peter sighed.

 

“Right, and when Stark catches up he’ll decide you need to be at one of the private places, the places that get you into MIT or the ivy league schools automatically. It’s just a matter of time.”

 

Peter bit down on his lip, “Mr. Stark wouldn’t do that.”

 

Harry paused.

 

Something pulled at his lips.

 

“Optimism,” Harry sounded strangely…genuine, “It’s nice to meet someone they haven’t completely screwed up.”

 

“Who?”

 

He was tugging on another wire. His fingers couldn’t fit with the gloves on, and hurriedly Harry slipped both off so he could do so, while telling Peter, “People like our dads. The ones that are always trying to get ahead, whether it be through their businesses or their children.”

 

Harry jumped suddenly when a spark zapped his ungloved finger. Peter let out a sound of irritation, grabbing the mini-generator from Harry’s reach. He stuck his hands inside easily, hooking together several wires. It had been painful to watch Harry struggle for so long.

 

After connecting the final two, the generator hummed to life.

 

Several heads turned in their direction. One of the adults in the MIT t-shirt approached to look over their accomplishment.

 

Harry laughed, almost in awe…

 

“Well, Petey, maybe you belong here more than any of us.”

 

…

 

Tony and Pepper had been arguing about the meeting since they had left Greece.

 

Of course, Tony had pushed it into the back of his mind. It had been too early that morning to discuss such matters and his worry over Peter had taken up most of his energy. So, he was completely unprepared when he walked into the office that morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time such a feeling had nagged at the back of his mind.

 

It barely produced discomfort anymore.

 

The moment Tony walked into Pepper’s office, it seemed the meeting had already begun. Tony pushed the door open, without knocking, and Pepper’s head immediately shot in his direction from her place on the sofa in the small lounge area at the corner of the office. Sitting across from her was a man Tony didn’t recognize, but he knew he must have been their buyer.

 

“Tony,” Pepper bit through her teeth, annoyance seeping within both syllables, “Glad you could finally join us. I had actually started without you-“

 

“No need to rush, Pep, I’m sure our guest doesn’t mind the wait,” Tony waved a hand dismissively.

 

Pepper let out a low sigh, turning her attention to the man in front of her, “I’m so very sorry.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, approaching. The man stood, adjusting the glasses on his face slightly as he did so. He held out a hand towards Tony and greeted, “Mr. Stark, I’m Doctor Curtis Connors. I came representing Oscorp.”

 

Glancing at the hand that hadn’t been offered to him, Tony noticed that the limb, in fact, did not exist. An amputee, from what he could decipher.

 

“Yeah, I remember that much from Pepper’s briefing yesterday morning,” Tony took the hand offered to him, though the handshake was brief and half-assed. He didn’t like dealing with Oscorp. Their entire company made his skin crawl with…a strange sense of wrong. Genetics, were, in some respects, important. Oscorp had assisted in the advancement of medical science all over the world, but some of their methods had proven to be less than ethical.

 

_Exhibit A._ Peter

 

Both men took their seats, Tony choosing the one directly beside Pepper. Grabbing a handful of peanuts from the table in front of him, Pepper let out another sound of discontent before saying, “Doctor Connors was just explaining to me what equipment Oscorp is in the market for. They’re looking into buying Base-Plexi-Model 122.”

 

Tony paused in peeling his peanuts…

 

“What the hell does Oscorp need that for?” Tony questioned, “You do realize that’s an insulator to contain buildings in case of some sort of explosion from the _inside_?”

 

Doctor Connors nodded, pushing up his glasses, “Yes, I’m well aware, Mr. Stark. As you know, Oscorp often deals with experiments of the…unpredictable nature. We intend to use your technology to protect the rest of our building, in case of a catastrophe involving unstable DNA.”

 

Before Tony could say anything in response, Pepper cut in, “And I told Doctor Connors that Stark Industries would be happy to sell them the necessary equipment.”

 

Tony shot her a look. Unsettled. He spoke through the peanuts in his mouth, “I thought that’d be something we’d decide together.”

 

“Well, you took too long,” Pepper’s head turned in Doctor Connors’ direction and she smiled, “We’ll get the paperwork to you as soon as possible.”

 

Pepper stood and Tony followed hurriedly as the woman moved towards the exit of the room. She made it all the way out into the hallway until Tony finally managed to take her wrist and stop her motions. She whirled around, eyes angry as Tony huffed, releasing her, “You said we’d _talk_ about selling tech to Oscorp.”

 

“I tried to talk to you about it,” Pepper crossed her arms over her chest, “I got ignored. Tony, I already went through all of his information. Everything checks out and they’re ready to go. So, I’m going to go sign the paperwork and let that nice man be on his way.”

 

Tony sighed, “What’s with you and Peter, insisting everyone is ‘nice’?”

 

Pepper glared…

 

“Maybe we just have more faith in people.”

 

…

 

Peter stood silently on the steps outside of the convention center, waiting for Happy.

 

He picked silently at his fingernails. The day had been uneventful, other than the ‘brownie-points’. He had learned that Harry was rather competitive when it came to things like this, but he was impatient. Peter had a feeling it was because he wanted to do well in order to impress Norman.

 

It made sense. Even ironic, because thing number two Peter had learned was that Harry had some strange bitterness towards his father.

 

Rocking back and forth on his feet, Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when Harry’s voice asked, “Be here tomorrow?”

 

Peter looked over to see the other teen standing beside him on the steps. He nodded in response, “Yeah uh…I think it cost a lot…”

 

Harry hummed, “Good, you’re one of the only people here that I can actually stand.”

 

“Thanks…?” Peter’s brows furrowed.

 

Peter jumped when he heard a car honk down below on the street. The familiar Rolls Royce had arrived and Peter glanced at Harry, offering a small wave before he bounded, jumping down the last three steps to the street. He glanced both ways before crossing, grabbing the back door and yanking it open to climb inside.

 

Almost immediately, the air in the car shifted. Peter looked into the rearview mirror, seeing a disapproving Happy staring back at him. Peter swallowed thickly, racking his brain for something he could have done. He slipped on his seatbelt and when that didn’t fix the stare, Peter asked quietly, “What?”

 

“Was that Osborn’s kid?”

 

Peter glanced out the window just as they were pulling away from the curb. He nodded, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, his name’s Harry. Why?”

 

There wasn’t much of a reply. Just a slight shake of Happy’s head as the man said, “Tony is gonna have the whole barn. But, that’s none of my business. Tony said to let you know that he’s going to be home late tonight, but patrol curfew is still the same and if you stay out later he’ll know.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled at the thought of patrolling, “Of course.”

 

The rest of the drive was filled with small talk. Mostly Happy complaining about the many ‘responsibilities’ of being the forehead of security. Peter listened intently, his mind only drifting to lethargy once or twice. Once they pulled up to the penthouse, Happy turned in his seat, handing over a paper bag, which Peter only assumed was his dinner for the night.

 

He rushed through the lobby, ignoring the stares he got as he jumped into the elevator, pressing the top button several times. Even though the lack of sleep was dulling his mind, he still felt that familiar happiness of getting to go out and patrol the city. Forgetting, just for a little while, what tiredness felt like. What grief felt like. Forgetting the sound of May’s long-gone voice asking him to be careful. Begging for him to be safe.

 

God, he missed her.

 

Peter ate his dinner at record speed, because he knew the worried look Tony would give him if he didn’t eat it would be far worse than missing a few minutes of patrol. He grabbed his suit from the workshop, changing while simultaneously running back up the stairs to the kitchen, through the living room, leaving just a sock on the terrace as he slipped on his mask.

 

Jumping down into the city, the light of the sun was barely sinking below the skyline, shielding him from any prying eyes below.

 

That was where the exhaustion went to die.

 

That was where he felt normal again.

 

Like he got a full night’s rest.

 

Like he could shut his eyes and sleep like everyone else.

 

And the lower the sun sank, the less the heat invaded him. Soaring became bliss. Not painful like in the dead of winter when only his heater could provide him with comfort. Or patrolling during the day in the summer. With the light having disappeared far away over the horizon, it was perfect. Almost like autumn.

 

The night started usual, maybe a few more car thefts than usual, but other than that, it was a comfortable pace. Moving through the ropes. Helping out grateful civilians. He was proud of himself when he didn’t mistake anyone for a car thief.

 

Maybe he really was getting the hang of everything again. He had been so out of practice, but the past several weeks had brought him back to where he left off. Almost like Before. And if he shut his eyes, it was as if Aunt May was still alive, waiting for him to come home to their Queens apartment. Even before Ned had known about his identity. Early on. When he still wore the onesie.

 

Speaking of Ned…

 

Peter was about two hours into patrol when his mask lit up with Ned’s face in the corner and Karen announced, “Peter, you have an incoming call from Ned Leeds. Should I put him through?”

 

“Sure Karen,” Peter responded.

 

Ned’s nose appeared on screen, his phone much too close to his face. He exclaimed excitedly _, “Peter!”_

Peter flinched slightly at the loudness of his voice, “Hey dude, what’s up? I’m kinda in the middle of patrol right now.”

 

_“Oh sorry, quick question,”_ Ned was speaking at a million miles per hour _, “Just wanted to tell you that the theater down town is showing a Jurassic Park marathon tomorrow night and MJ and I talked about going. I wanted to see if you’d wanna come with us.”_

The stones of the rooftop crunched under Peter’s feet as he paced, “Sure, I’ll head there as soon as I get done with MIT stuff tomorrow-”

 

Peter paused, a loud scream making him jump.

 

His head jerked in its direction. It sounded very close, though with his hearing he struggled to know if it really was or if it was a few buildings over. Peter sprinted forward, towards the edge, leaning over and trying to scan the distance with his mask. He told Ned hurriedly, “Gotta go, lots of screaming, not sure what’s going on.”

 

_“Screaming-?”_

Peter hung up.

 

Jumping the small distance between the building he was currently on and the next, Peter broke out into a full-on sprint. He told Karen sharply, jumping again, “Karen, can you track where the screaming is coming from?”

 

“Yes Peter, scanning for the source.”

 

Peter kept thinking he was getting closer, but he knew his hearing was deceiving him. He slid across another neighboring roof, heart pounding in his ears. It sounded like a man, a man being torn to pieces and Peter wondered if he didn’t hear things so well, would he even hear it at all? Because he didn’t seem to be getting any closer-

 

“The source of the sound is estimated to be only thirty feet in front of you. Next alley.”

 

Peter crouched.

 

Jumped.

 

He peered over the concrete into the darkness of the alley, greeted with an all too familiar scene, like the night before.

 

Except this time, instead of three men, there were only two. One having his ass handed to him and the other…The guy with horns…

 

Peter’s eyes grew wide behind the mask as he watched the man, ‘the Devil’, hammer several punches into the other guy’s face, sending him into the concrete like a bag of jelly. Peter swallowed thickly. He considered calling Tony. Then Tony could call Natasha and she could come handle it. The Devil calmly stepped over the flattened form on the ground and Peter’s heart dropped as he lifted his masked face to look up at him directly.

 

Peter gulped.

 

Stood, then jumped down.

 

Peter landed slightly above him on the fire escape, just to keep some distance. He leaned forward over the railing and mocked anxiously, “Hey there, Devil-Dude. So, you’re the guy running around getting teenagers arrested, huh?”

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Came a rough response.

 

Peter shrugged, “I’m actually right where I’m supposed to be. You’re the one out of your way, buddy.”

 

He held out his wrist, readying to shoot his webbing. Before he had even finished firing though, the Devil side stepped the line, running forward. Peter detached the wasted webbing, running to the edge of the fire escape, just as the Devil yanked himself up, throwing a punch when his feet hit the grate. Peter ducked, grabbing the man’s elbow, redirecting the punch into the brick beside them.

 

The Devil let out a grunt of pain as his gloved fist made contact, chipping the stone.

 

Peter grinned to himself, grabbing the railing and flipping around to send a kick into the side of his head. The Devil raised some kind of stick, slamming it into Peter’s shin, a loud thwack resounding through the air. Peter bit back a cry, landing in a crouched position and rolling to the other side of the fire escape, staring up at the man who was breathing heavily. He didn’t seem to be looking at Peter, his gaze turned towards the empty brick wall.

 

Rubbing a hand over his shin Peter grunted, “Okay, that’s cheating.”

 

“This isn’t a game.”

 

Standing to full height Peter huffed, “Could’ve fooled me. So, what’s with the horns? I mean I know you’re supposed to be the Devil, but I think this is all a bit theatrical.”

 

“Stop talking,” Came a reply, sending knives into Peter’s spine as one of the sticks were sent towards his head. Peter ducked, laughing in triumph as he whirled back around to face the Devil with a smile on his face, under his mask.

 

However, what he didn’t expect was a duplicate stick to hit him square in the forehead.

 

Peter let out a cry, stumbling backward and over the railing. He hit the ground hard, dizzy, head smacking the concrete. Wondering how the hell he had let himself get hit like that. His lack of sleep was really catching up with him. Maybe his reflexes were suffering. His senses hadn’t even bothered to warn him about the second round.

 

The Devil’s voice echoed through the alleyway, “You and your friend need to stay out of this.”

 

Peter groaned, rolling onto his back and staring up at the starless sky. Gasp. Deep breath. Deep breath. The air had been knocked out of him and his chest fought to expand. Sirens were approaching and Peter shook his head, fighting down the nausea that threatened to overtake him.

 

“Hell no, not again.”

 

Stumbling to his feet, Peter shot upward, bringing himself to the roof of the building. He sat down slowly, leaning his head down between his knees, whispering softly…

 

“Screw you, Devil-Dude.”  


	4. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get them out of here.”
> 
> “What!?” Ned cried, “No, no, no, where are you going?”
> 
> The terror on his friend's face made his heart ache. He wished he had his suit. He wished he could jump in and stop whatever was happening right then and there and not worry about the consequences. Direct everyone to the exit. But without his mask...He was just a kid. Just a kid in a hoodie that people wouldn't listen to because they were afraid and their loved ones were with them and they were willing to do anything to get out of there alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!   
> I just want to say thank you again for the comments and the support. You've all treated me so lovely. You're magnificent!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter deals with themes involving a public shooting. Though it isn't graphic and it isn't a focal point, I still think it can be triggering for anyone that might be sensitive towards it, so I wanted to give a forewarning in case you think this chapter will effect you negatively. Always take necessary steps towards self-care.

The moment Peter made it inside the penthouse, he ripped his mask off, letting out a huff.

 

Childish anger was back, and he stomped to his room, quickly stripping out of his suit and climbing into a warm shower. The water soothed the bruised skin on his back and he ran a tentative hand over the back of his head where he had hit the concrete. Narrowing his eyes on the tile, he felt a bump forming, and even though he knew it’d be gone by morning, he was still kicking himself for not noticing the damned stick heading towards his face.

 

That’s what he got in return for sticking up for the guy the night before. Telling Tony that he thought the Devil was helping that woman. So far he had gotten arrested and a smack to the face because of this guy. If he saw him again, he wasn’t going to hold back.

 

Tired-Peter was short tempered. Another on the list.

 

He climbed out, smothering in the steam filled room. Using his hand to swipe off the fogged mirror, he poked at the small cut above his eyebrow where the stick had made contact. It wasn’t bleeding, and if it had been he hadn’t noticed on the way home. It was already healing, from what he could tell and he started getting dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that said ‘Taco Tuesday’, even though it was still technically Monday for a few more hours.

 

It had been such a productive night until the incident with the Devil. Peter walked lazily down the hallway, his shoulders hanging limply at his sides while he trotted down to the workshop. It was empty, not that he expected there to be anyone home yet.

 

Technically Peter was the one that was home early.

 

“FRIDAY, lights on,” Peter ordered and the room illuminated.

 

DUM-E whirled to life, turning and twisting in response to Peter’s entrance. Peter smiled, “It’s just me. Don’t worry, the guy who threatens to scrap you every five minutes isn’t home yet.”

 

A relieved whirl followed.

 

Considering the room, Peter looked for something to grab his attention. The junk he had slowly begun to pile up didn’t seem very appealing and Peter just felt like his shoulders were about to crack in two. He ran his hands up the back of his neck and pressed down on the base of his skull, trying to alleviate the pain there.

 

He sank onto Tony’s chair, leaning forward on the workbench. Eyes shut. Deep breath. He was so tired. Like the world was catching up with the adrenaline gone. He pressed his forehead down into the metal, grabbing both sides of his head by his hair, intertwining it between his fingers and tugging harshly in some attempt to bring him back to the real world.

 

There was a familiar frenzy building. Anger and frustration because he just wanted to get some rest. He started shaking at the thought, mad at his own mind for rejecting sleep. For rejecting the one thing that could bring Peter comfort and stop the ache in his bones and his heart. Emotions felt heavier when he was tired and he was tired _all the time_. Then the quiet would come, tears would burn, he would crack open.

 

Sleep was the only way to combat it and he didn’t even have that anymore. Aunt May was creeping back up. Her death. The pain. She was gone. Gone. And sometimes he got to forget. Sometimes he got to glue himself together and pretend things were okay. He let himself be happy and he let himself love Pepper and Tony. But Aunt May would come back and all of that would be cut out with a scythe.

 

_“Honey, don’t get yourself all worked up.”_

Peter cringed at the sound of May’s voice. Eyes tighter.

 

_“Look at me. Don’t ignore me.”_

Shut off. _Shut up_.

 

He thought his hair was going to yank out between his fingers.

 

_“Peter, you’ve gotta get some rest, sweetheart.”_

Peter lifted his head off the table and slammed it down forcefully onto the metal, causing all of the tools covering the workbench to clatter. Suddenly, someone grabbed his left wrist, slipping another hand to lay between Peter’s forehead and the table as a cushion. It forced him to sit up, and the hand on his forehead move to his chin, gripping tightly while the other hand remained on his wrist.

 

The boy’s vision was blurred with unshed tears. Tiny pricks, sparkling in the light of the workshop. Tony’s face was there, confused, maybe even a bit upset. Peter opened his mouth, croaking, wanting to explain it away. Wanting to explain why he had hit his head. Why he was shaking. But he couldn’t, because that would mean explaining the not sleeping and the hate for himself that was creeping.

 

He tried to tug his face away, but the grip was too hard. So, Peter opted for squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Look at me,” Tony ordered, but Peter wouldn’t open his eyes, “Peter, is it quiet?”

 

Not yet. He hadn’t let it get to that point. It was trying to. He shook his head, not opening his eyes, because he didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to see Aunt May.

 

“Then what’s wrong?”

 

_I’m so tired, Mr. Stark. That’s what’s wrong. I let myself get hit with a stupid stick by a guy wearing freaking horns. I can’t sleep._

None of that came out. Opening his eyes, Peter only managed to croak, “I’m okay.”

 

“You’re _not_ ,” Tony snapped, causing Peter to jump. Tony’s face held instant regret, “Sorry, just… _talk_ to me.”

 

Tony’s eyes lifted to Peter’s forehead where the small cut from the stick was. He let go of Peter’s wrist, continuing to hold his face as he used his newly freed hand to swipe his thumb over the break in the skin. He questioned quietly, “Did you do this?”

 

“No,” Peter insisted vehemently, “I promise. I _promise_.”

 

He stared at the man with wide eyes, begging silently for Tony to believe him. The last thing he needed was for Tony to think he had intentionally done something to himself. The hand on his face slackened in grip, and Peter rubbed the residual tears away that had never fallen to his cheeks, thankfully.

 

Tony released him fully. Peter guessed he was comfortable enough knowing Peter had gotten a grip on himself. Tony pushed the boy’s hair off his forehead and back, looking at the cut one last time, shooting Peter a disbelieving stare…

 

“You sure you didn’t do that to yourself? I saw you hit your head on the table.”

 

“I didn’t,” Peter murmured, looking at the floor, “I saw the Devil guy on patrol. He threw a stick at my head.”

 

Tony hummed, lowering his hand.

 

Weaving his fingers together, Peter sighed, “I-I think I had a panic attack. I felt fine…j-just a minute ago, I don’t know…”

 

_You do know. You’re tired and your body won’t let you sleep._

Hesitantly, he made eye contact with Tony, who grilled him again, “How many times did you hit your head?”

 

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, “Why’re you stuck on that?”

 

“Because the last time I caught you doing something like that you were curled up in a closet putting holes in the sheetrock,” Tony’s voice came back raised, looking at Peter in disbelief, “And come to find out, it was because you were suppressing things about the adoption-“

 

Peter covered his eyes, “It’s not about the adoption.”

 

“Is it about May?”

 

Peter shook his head, fighting the way his lip trembled. He bit down on his fingernail, only for Tony to grab his wrist and pull it away, ordering, “ _Talk_.”

 

“It’s not about anything,” Peter breathed, “Today was a long day. I’m tired. I think I just got…overwhelmed with all the MIT stuff, alright? I’m okay a-and you’re breaking the rules.”

 

Pause. Long. _Quiet_.

 

Tony let out a pained exhale…

 

“Alright,” He shook his head, “But if I see you doing anything like that again-“

 

Peter’s shoulders slumped, “Yeah, I know, I’ll go to a Crazy-House.”

 

“I would never send you away.”

 

Tony pulled up a stool to sit beside Peter at the workbench. He pointed to the cut on his forehead and changed the subject, “So, you saw the Devil-Guy again? Even after I expressed my… _discomfort_ at you helping Nat?”

 

Peter shrugged sheepishly, “I didn’t really do it on purpose. I mean, sure I was keeping an eye out like I told her I would, but I didn’t actually expect to run into him. And he just attacked me! I literally did nothing to him and he hit me twice with his stupid eskrima stick things.”

 

Peter pulled up his leg, rolling up his sweat pants to show where a light bruise was forming on his shin, but it, like the cut, would more than likely be gone by morning. Pressing on it gently, Peter grimaced and continued, “He was beating up another guy. Only one this time. He didn’t really give me a chance to ask any questions, but he said that my ‘friend’ and I need to stay out of whatever is going on. By friend I’m guessing he meant Black Widow.”

 

Tony scratched his chin, “So, he knows she’s following him. Must be really good, cause I struggle to notice her half the time.”

 

Peter nodded in agreement, “He is good. _Awesome_ at hand to hand combat. He’s like, unnaturally fast.”

 

“As in…” Tony trailed off, the meaning hanging in the air.

 

“Oh no,” Peter’s face scrunched, “I don’t think he’s enhanced. He didn’t do anything like…climb up walls or do magic tricks. He’s just a ninja.”

 

Scoffing, Tony shook his head, “Okay, enough about made-up things. How was Prep?”

 

“Long,” Peter put his chin down on the table, “The stuff they had us doing was kinda easy, so I was worried I was doing it wrong the whole time. Oh! And I got a workstation partner!”

 

He sat up fully, “Harry Osborn, you know, Mr. Osborn’s son?”

 

Tony’s face went from surprised to annoyed in a split second. Peter watched as his guardian pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “They have to be doing it on purpose at this point. I’ve gotten more Osborn in the past few days than I have in years.”

 

He then focused his eyes on Peter and asked, “Is he an asshat like his dad?”

 

“No,” Peter rolled his eyes, “He’s…strange, but he actually talks to me, unlike the other kids there. I think his dad _made_ him go, though…He seems like he hates it, but he’s super competitive at the same time. It confuses me.”

 

Tony made an expression that he understood, “Ah, that usual ‘my father is forcing me to be here but I’m going to do my best so maybe he’ll give me attention’ approach.”

 

Peter’s face scrunched, “That sounds…Awful.”

 

“It sounds like reality,” Tony tilted his head, looking indifferent, “Norman clearly isn’t as cool as me.”

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark, you’re _super_ cool,” Peter smirked.

 

Tony glared, but it only lasted a few moments. Peter watched it melt away, replaced by something else he didn’t really want to see. Concern. As if the entire ordeal earlier had suddenly come rushing back. He looked down at the table, beginning to grab a few items in front of him and Peter knew this was only the beginning of another night of tinkering for the man.

 

He spoke to Peter, “I think tonight you should try sleeping in your bed instead of on the concrete floor, huh?”

 

Tony wasn’t looking at him. It was a defensive measure, so he wouldn’t see Peter’s eyes growing wide.

 

_But you don’t understand, Mr. Stark. I can’t sleep._

_Lying in bed in the dark for hours only invites Aunt May’s ghost._

Peter pushed past the lump in his throat, “Is that a suggestion or are you sending me to bed?”

 

Tony paused.

 

“It’s not a suggestion.”

 

Peter’s body curled forward slightly and Tony finally looked at the frail boy, “You’re tired, Peter.”

 

“I know,” Peter agreed softly.

 

“You need to rest.”

 

“I _know_.”

 

“Go to sleep.”

 

_But, you don’t understand Mr. Stark…_

_It-insomnia-won’t let me._

_…_

The moment Peter had retreated to go to sleep, Tony let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

 

Leaning forward, he put a hand over his mouth and stared at the wall across the workshop. A panic attack of his own was threatening. Peter hadn’t hit his head hard, Tony kept reminding himself that. But it was the second time he had seen Peter do such a thing, even if this attack wasn’t as dramatic as the last, it was unnerving.

 

Every time he thought about it, he got another grey hair for good measure.

 

“You’re killing me,” Tony whispered to himself.

 

The way Peter could just look at him, tears threatening to fall, and still manage to lie through his teeth and say he was ‘fine’ was completely over Tony’s head. And why he was lying kept digging into the man’s subconscious. They had been over it a million times with Doctor Middleton. It was okay to voice when things got bad. It was okay to talk.

 

But getting anything out of Peter half the time was like pulling teeth.

 

FRIDAY’s voice announced suddenly, “Boss, Natasha Romanoff is requesting entrance into the penthouse. She says that she is terribly sorry for disabling me last night and coming unannounced.”

 

Tony ran a hand through his hair. Natasha was the last thing he needed right now…

 

When he took too long to respond, FRIDAY continued, “She says that if she isn’t allowed entry, she will continue her work under your nose…”

 

“Okay fine!” Tony snapped, standing, “Tell her to come up and meet me in the kitchen.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Tony climbed the steps to the main floor, entering the kitchen and beginning to brew coffee. He was going to need it, if Natasha was coming. Tony paused briefly, before ordering FRIDAY, “Let’s test the sound proofing in Pete’s room, FRI.”

 

“ _Baby-Proofing-Stage-Four_ : Activated, Boss.”

 

It had been a mechanism Tony had yet to test, but had drawn the diagrams up after Peter’s first day at the penthouse when his sensory overload had sent him curled up in his bedroom closet. It was a white noise mechanism, nothing physical, all tricks with sound waves to fend off the outside world. Anything in the penthouse as well.

 

After last night’s eavesdropping, it felt needed.

 

The elevator chimed and Natasha appeared in the foyer, moving towards the kitchen. Tony tapped his fingers on the counter top, waiting for the coffee to finish. He didn’t even look up as he huffed, “Don’t tell me you let my kid get smacked in the face and didn’t intervene.”

 

“Well, you’ll be disappointed, because I did in fact let your kid get smacked in the face without intervening,” Natasha actually sounded annoyed, “In my defense, I was worried about my cover being blown. However…The Devil somehow knew I was there anyway, so it was a waste.”

 

She paused, “Is he alright?”

 

“Physically,” Tony whispered, the coffee pot finishing with a beep. He poured a mug before turning to face the Black Widow. She had her short hair pulled back, her expression blank, even though her eyes seemed concerned.

 

Tony looked away. Putting emotions on freaking Black Widow was not on the agenda for the night. He pointed at her and ordered, “Alright, on with it. Why’re you here?”

 

“I found some more information on our devil guy,” She leaned forward onto the counter, resting on her elbows casually, “He’s targeting local smugglers.”

 

Tony was unimpressed, “So what? Human trafficking is involved, it makes sense.”

 

Nat shook her head, “These smugglers that I’ve found are usually involved with drug trading, not…humans. The woman that the Devil freed last night is in the hospital. She can’t recall exactly what happened, but I’m not surprised. She’s addicted to narcotics.”

 

Taking a huge gulp of coffee, Tony asked, “So, what does that have to do with drug smugglers suddenly involving themselves in human trafficking?”

 

“I think someone is orchestrating all of this, someone powerful,” She looked perplexed, but Tony didn’t question why, “And I think they purposely hired drug smugglers to traffic people because the drugs keep the merchandise submissive. And they probably have a list of buyers that could go missing without much notice. I think that woman went to the alley for a drug deal and almost got kidnapped.”

 

Pressing back on the wall, Tony hummed, “Well, at least we know that whoever is buying these people aren’t picky about who they get.”

 

Nat sighed ruefully, “I just wish I could get my hands on the Devil. He seems to know a lot more than I do, and if I could compare notes with him it’d probably make both of our lives easier.”

 

“Why do you want his help? I heard he’s not that good of a guy. Even before he hit a child in the head.”

 

She regarded him genuinely, a look of…concern?

 

“He seemed slower tonight,” Natasha pointed out, “Peter I mean. He could have easily ducked the eskrima, but he didn’t.”

 

Tony was grinding his teeth. He didn’t like Natasha noticing those things, or knowing anything he didn’t know. Setting down his mug with a soft clatter on the marble, Tony stood forward, approaching her with a hard look on his face. She simply raised an eyebrow. It was meant to be a challenge, but Nat didn’t fear him, not that he wanted her to. He just wanted her to know that he was serious. That his words needed to be considered carefully.

 

“If you see Peter near that guy again, you call me,” Tony ordered.

 

Nat tilted her head, “I don’t know if I want to betray my Spidey-Friend like that.”

 

Tony’s shoulders, if possible, went tauter, “You _will_ call me.”

 

She stood to full height…

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

Turning on her heels, she moved to the elevator. Tony didn’t try to stop her. Even with the fresh coffee in his system, he was still exhausted. She waved, half-assed, before stepping into the elevator and disappearing.

 

Tony looked up at the ceiling…

 

“FRIDAY, no more rogues coming to visit, please.”

 

…

 

Peter’s eyes stayed trained to the same spot on the ceiling for three hours.

 

His fingers gripped the soft sheets, the ones that were so inviting for sleep, but would never fully offer it to him. Even his old pillow from Queens didn’t help, tucked under his arm like the comforting stuffed bunny he had carried around for years after his parents had died. Until it had tattered in the dryer one day when he was eight and he had cried for days.

 

Uncle Ben had felt so guilty.

 

Peter rolled over, burying his face into the pillow beside him before shoving himself upward and off the mattress. His bare feet made no sound against the floor as he crossed his bedroom and opened his door, slinking into the hallway. He could hear Tony’s heart beat in his room. Slow. Calm. He was asleep and Peter was envious.

 

He found himself on the terrace. Peter wasn’t sure how long the walk had been or when the thought to go out into the warm summer night had hit him, but he did it anyway. Sitting down on the metal, he allowed the wind to send his hair askew, leaning his head forward to rest between the gaps in the railing.

 

The light from the city flashed off his pale cheeks, turning them yellow and blue. Maybe if he watched the cars long enough, listened to the horns and the music, he would eventually slip into slumber. His eyes burned again with frustrated tears. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep.

 

He threaded his fingers together and pressed them both down on the back of his head.

 

_Please. I just want to sleep._

Then that place arrived. That place between being awake and not.

 

He dozed, his face pressed against the metal railing, hands falling to his sides and face going slack. Peter felt when the morning sun touched his face, the soft shine becoming harsher by the second behind his eyelids. But before he could rejoin the waking world, a hand touched the side of his face, edging him away from the gap. Peter startled, eyes fluttering open and his heart leaping into his throat.

 

Tony was beside him and he assured, “Just me.”

 

Peter’s head lulled slightly and he looked out, the hand releasing him. The sun was rising. Peter pressed his palms to his eyelids and questioned hoarsely, “What time is it?”

 

“A quarter until seven,” Tony’s voice was laced with unsettlement and Peter wanted to flee because he couldn’t do this again, not right now, “Did you sleep out here?”

 

Peter’s neck and back ached from sitting for so long propped up. Combing his fingers through his hair and murmured quietly, “No-I…No. Just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep…S-so I came out here.”

 

_Did I ever go to sleep?_  
  


He felt slightly nauseous at the thought of having to pay attention all day while so exhausted.

 

“Peter…” Tony knew. Knew he was lying. He could tell by the tone in the man’s voice. Peter immediately stumbled to his feet, his chest constricting. Trapped. He felt utterly _captured_ out on the terrace with a worried Tony.

 

“I-I need to get dressed,” Peter excused, not waiting for a response from Tony as he practically threw himself through the door and into the penthouse.

 

Tony followed him inside, calling, “If you avoid it, it’ll come up with Doctor Middleton and I’ll find out anyway.”

 

Peter pivoted slightly and tried to hide the frustration in his tone, “Nothing will come up because nothing is wrong.”

 

He flinched when he turned back around, greeted by Pepper stepping out of the hallway. He nearly toppled over her, and he reached out to grab the wall to stop himself from doing so. She looked confused, worried. They weren’t speaking quietly and Peter felt sandwiched with Pepper blocking the hallway and Tony slowly inching closer behind him. His heart hammered and he swallowed, looking down at his bare feet while shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

 

Peter deflated…

 

“Yes, everything is okay.”

 

Tony scoffed, “Besides me finding him sleeping on the terrace.”

 

Peter groaned, lifting his eyes from his feet to look back at his mentor, “Okay, I get it, if it was winter it would be weird. But it’s not.”

 

He swayed slightly, as if his body was struggling to hold him up. He fell into the sway, moving around Pepper and down the hallway, not waiting for any response. Even though he had showered the night before, he did it again, wanting to try and wake himself up a bit. To fight the drowsiness that was setting.

 

Peter didn’t leave his room until Happy arrived to pick him up.

 

The second he walked into the kitchen, both men’s eyes turned to face him. Another box of breakfast was sitting on the counter and Tony practically shoved it at him, ordering, “Eat a bagel.”

 

His eyes left no room for argument.

 

Peter plucked one out of the box, hoping maybe if he ate he wouldn’t feel so unsteady. He tried to pretend Tony wasn’t watching him eat. Wasn’t calculating every single one of his micromovements. Waiting for another explosion. Peter’s luck, Tony would call Doctor Middleton. Schedule an emergency appointment, even though they had just gotten them down to once a month.

 

Only when he finished did Happy gesture that it was time to leave.

 

They had to have been talking about him.

 

Before climbing into the elevator, Peter glanced back at Tony and informed, “I’m going to the movies tonight with Ned and MJ.”

 

It wasn’t a question. Because if he had left it up to that, Tony would have tried to convince him not to go.

 

Tony shot him a nod, a stare clashing. Peter felt guilt rise like vomit and instinctively he spoke…

 

“It’s not quiet, Mr. Stark.”

 

The man’s face softened. Another nod.

 

And Peter left, wishing his could take his pain with him. But he knew strands would be left that Mr. Stark would have to suffer through.

 

…

 

If it was possible, Harry was even more competitive than he was the day before.

 

Peter let him do a lot of it, mostly because Peter wasn’t brave enough to step between Harry’s determined look and their projects. He intervened when the other boy seemed to get stuck or just overall angry. There were a few instances where Peter thought he was going to break all of their tools and flip the workbench and that would have been the least of his worries that day.

 

When Peter helped him get the gas line put together in order to prevent them from blowing up, Harry had looked at him, slight disdain in his voice as he asked, _“Do you just do this daily?”_

_“This is the kinda stuff I do for fun.”_

Harry had shaken his head, laughed, and allowed Peter to finish what he had started. Peter worried he was getting under Harry’s skin, but even through Harry’s sarcastic remarks, he hadn’t made any hint towards wanting to punch him in the face, so that was a good and dandy sign that maybe they were able to tolerate one another.

 

For their lunch break, both he and Harry sat outside behind the building. Peter wondered why, but he didn’t ask. He had just followed Harry when he had gestured for him to do so. They were served things like sandwiches and fruit, but Peter just opted for an apple.

 

Harry opted for nothing and instead was pacing while Peter sat on the back step, holding the fruit in his hand. There was something anxious in the way Harry was acting, but Peter didn’t feel right asking what was wrong. He had only met Harry the day before and he himself didn’t like it when people pried, so it seemed only fair not to do it to others.

 

Finally, Harry paused in his step, looking at Peter, causing the boy to freeze where he was about to take a giant bite from his food…

 

“You look like shit.”

 

Peter lowered the food from his mouth, “Thanks.”

 

“Not to say I don’t,” Harry put a hand on his own chest, “But my dad pissed me off last night, so that’s my excuse. What’s yours?”

 

Impulsively, Peter rubbed his forehead where the cut was long gone in the night. He muttered, “Nothing I…just didn’t sleep well...”

 

He then tilted his head, desperate to get the attention off himself, “Why’d Mr. Osborn upset you?”

 

There was a drawn-out silence, besides the sound of the city filtering into the back alley. Harry sighed, moving forward and pushing Peter slightly to get him to move over on the step. He plopped down, ungracefully, leaning back on his elbows so that Peter had to crane his neck to look at him. He appeared to be chewing the inside of his mouth, maybe biting his tongue so he wouldn’t say something awful.

 

“Other than being his usual dickish self,” Harry breathed through his nose, “I stayed out late. Which led to him talking about this class. And _that_ eventually led to me saying I didn’t want to be here and I might have thrown some stuff, I don’t remember, I was really out of it.”

 

_Out of it_ could mean a lot of things. Out of it could be like Peter, tired and suffering from _it_. But it could also mean out of it as in all the old tabloids Peter had seen of Tony during his wild years. The 90s decade and some of the earlier 2000s.

 

Peter rubbed his hands together awkwardly, before asking, “Can I ask you something?”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, “No, I don’t do crack. I know the tabloids say I do-“

 

“Not _that_ ,” Peter interrupted, “I was gonna ask…What you wanted to do? Like…If you don’t want to do this, what are you interested in?”

 

Harry seemed startled by the question and Peter wondered briefly if he was the first person to ever ask it. Slowly, he sat up straight so Peter was no longer having to look back at him, since he was now directly eye level. Harry shrugged his shoulders, almost nonchalantly, but there was tension there. Like if he said what he was about to say, someone would jump out and beat it out of him.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry scoffed, glaring at the ground, “I mean, I like science. But I like other stuff too. I have no damn clue what I _want_ to do. I’ve been told what I’m _supposed_ to do for too long.”

 

His face then scrunched and he snapped his head over at Peter, “Stop getting your optimism on me.”

 

Harry rubbed his shoulder as if slapping off a bug for emphasis. Peter smiled, shaking his head before asking, “Can I ask you something else?”

 

“As long as it won’t give me an existential crisis.”

 

“It won’t,” Peter’s brows tugged together, “Or at least, it shouldn’t. My friends and I are going to see a movie tonight, so I was wondering if you’d wanna come with us.”

 

Harry looked hesitant, “Depends. What movie is it and am I going to want to punch your friends in their faces?”

 

“Well, it’s a Jurassic Park marathon, so it’ll be a few movies,” Peter shrugged, “And as far as my friends go, they’re both total opposites, so you’re bound to like at least one of them.”

 

“Ironic.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow and Harry glared…

 

“It’s Jurassic Park, _Petey_. My father is a geneticist, I was _trying_ to be funny.”

 

Peter laughed, partly out of obligation but also because irony was better when it didn’t involve him.

 

…

 

Peter was grateful that Ned could talk to a brick wall.

 

Harry rode with Peter to the theater that afternoon. Taking a taxi, because Peter knew if Happy drove him, he’d tell Tony and that would be a mess of questions because it was obvious the Osborns were some kind of thorn in Tony’s side. Peter was much too tired for such conversations anyway and Harry’s face inside the taxi had been priceless. Harry had probably never seen the inside of public transportation other than a town car.

 

He was glad he hadn’t made Harry take the subway, because it probably would have sent the other teen into shock.

 

Ned and MJ had been waiting for them, standing outside of the ticket booth. Harry shoved his hands deep in his pockets and glanced at Peter. There was a sort of…worry on his face. Peter smiled back, reassuringly. Maybe he was afraid to meet Ned and MJ.

 

_Again_ , he was so glad Ned could talk to anyone.

 

It made the whole introduction much less awkward, especially since MJ only seemed to want to ask about the rumors of animal experimentation inside Oscorp. Luckily, Harry found it amusing and Ned’s questions were much lighter and excited. If any questions seemed to get even close to involving Norman, Harry dodged them almost skillfully. Overall, Harry seemed like he wasn’t going to punch either of them in the face, so that was a win in Peter’s opinion.

 

Peter tried his best to keep engaged in the quick moving conversations that Ned was leading for everyone as they went through the ticket line, got their popcorn, and filed into the theater. He really did. But, his eyes drooped heavily and it felt like his shoulders were weighed down. All three of his friends were too engrossed in their conversations to notice the way his hands trembled and his knees knocked.

 

He sipped his soda as the theater enveloped in darkness and the previews played.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Peter looked over at Harry who had an eyebrow raised. Both MJ and Ned were staring as well and Peter nodded, “Yeah! Why?”

 

The back of his head was buzzing like fire. He blinked almost blearily, and Ned piped up from the other side of Harry, “You look super out of it.”

 

“I’m not out of it,” Peter pouted, putting his drink in the cupholder, “I’m _so_ alert.”

 

Their attention was broken when someone started squeezing through their legs, causing them to lift them. Peter’s fault for getting an aisle seat, he supposed. The music had grown loud and the lights lowered a bit more, engulfing them in inviting darkness before the familiar Jurassic theme started to resound off the walls.

 

It was packed to the brim, a few children squealing, and Peter sort of wanted to laugh because he knew how much Ned was probably fuming about that.

 

The smell of popcorn filled his nose and he slumped down slightly in the seat, thinking even though the audio was loud as hell, he could maybe fall asleep there. And any rest squeezed in was a gift at this point. He put his elbow on the arm rest, leaning his head over, shutting his eyes so the darkness could hide his exhaustion.

 

He didn’t want them to think he was lying.

 

Peter couldn’t have been dozing more than twenty minutes into the movie.

 

_Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop._

He startled. It was loud in his ears, _his_ ears…not normal ears…but when he looked around, not everyone seemed as concerned. His stomach twisted, watching as people looked at each other with confused expressions. Questioning. Some of their eyes were wide and Peter leaned forward, gripping the seat in front of him, startling the middle-aged woman there. The movie was playing too loud. Not everyone could hear it but…

 

_Pop. Pop. Pop._

It was louder this time. No mistaking it, at least not Peter. He turned to his friends, opening his mouth in the dark room to say something just as a creature on the screen screeched and the film cut off, plummeting everyone into darkness. A few of the young children screamed and there it was…there it was again…unmistakable, his heart hitting his mouth.

 

_Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop._

Quick succession, the new-found silence framing it gently. No longer smothered by the film.

 

A few people stood, moving hesitantly, as if not wanting to start a panic, because no one was sure. But Peter had heard this sound before. Many patrols resulted in it deafening his ears in night after night scours of the city. 

 

Gunshots.

 

Rapid.

 

Peter’s hand went to his thigh, where a bullet had torn through him just a few months prior.

 

About to say something, Peter was cut off when a voice came over the intercom system. It was shaky, a woman, she sounded young, maybe even a teenager just a like Peter. Trying to work her night shift. She announced, _“A-Attention, this is not a drill…We n-need everyone to evacuate the building **now**.”_

 

Though she wasn’t screaming and hadn’t explained what exactly was going on, the fear was tangible and people did what they did best in situations like that.

 

They panicked.

 

Chaos erupted, people jumping from their seats immediately, drowning out whatever other instructions she was trying to convey to everyone over the popping sounds. Peter flew to his feet, moving aside into the aisle, making room for Harry, Ned, and MJ to step out. People were shoving past him and as soon as Ned was in arm’s length, he grabbed him forcefully by the wrist, hissing just loud enough for Ned to hear him over the screaming…

 

“Get them out of here.”

 

“What!?” Ned cried, “No, no, no, where are _you_ going?”

 

The terror on his friend's face made his heart ache. He wished he had his suit. He wished he could jump in and stop whatever was happening right then and there and not worry about the consequences. Direct everyone to the exit. But without his mask...He was just a kid. Just a kid in a hoodie that people wouldn't listen to because they were afraid and their loved ones were with them and they were willing to do anything to get out of there alive. 

 

Peter glanced at both Harry and MJ, the swarm of humans backing up the exits, “You know where I have to go. Get them out of here, Ned. Okay? It's a job for the guy in the chair, that’s what I need you to do right now.”

 

“OH shit!” Ned’s voice cracked, “The guy in the chair isn’t supposed to have field missions!”

 

Peter shook his head, eyes scanning the room for some sort of exit. Why weren’t they bringing up the lights? He shouted, “Well I’m giving you one!”

 

Ned looked at him, almost aghast and Peter begged, “Please, Ned, I have to go now! I gotta go!”

 

He let go of his best friend’s shoulders, moving towards the opposite side of the theater where the popping was the most prominent and people appeared to be avoiding. He grabbed the back of his hoodie, pulling it over his head and cursing himself for not bringing his damned webshooters. A sinking feel was befalling him. He had seen stuff like this on the news, but to actually witness it would be a different story entirely.

 

Peter threw the swinging door open, finding himself in a small side-lobby that appeared to be completely abandoned. A haze of smoke was left behind, and small holes littered the walls, shell-casings glimmering gold on the floor. The exit door to his left was wide open, but there didn’t seem to be anyone injured. No sign of blood.

 

Pulling the hood further on his head, Peter peeked out the door, eyes scanning the dark back entrance. There was shuffling, a shadow looming, causing his brown eyes to snatch in its direction. Two men were scaling the fire escape, scrambling onto the roof and disappearing.

 

Peter broke out into a sprint, following.

 

His fingers were clammy as he climbed the ladder, blood rushing in his ears and making him dizzy. The adrenaline was overpowering the sleep-deprivation, but he could feel his arms moving at a slower pace than usual. Once he made it to the top of the building, both figures were already two roofs ahead, jumping and rolling. Peter groaned in annoyance, beginning to follow them south…

 

The familiar smell of the docks filled his nose. _That_ was water and fish that had gotten stuck between the rocks. The closer he trailed the men, the stronger it became and soon enough the water was glimmering to his right. He didn’t like how close they were getting to where Barren Mills once stood. Where Ross had grabbed him. Where the entire ordeal had begun.

 

Peter blinked away images of the Raft, returning his mind to the run. To the chase.

 

The forms disappeared, jumping down off the side of the building ahead. Peter jumped a brief gap, separating him from that structure, sliding to a stop at the edge and peering over. There was no one below, and Peter blinked several times, trying to make sure his mind wasn’t twisting things. That they had actually vanished into thin air…He gulped in air, trying to catch his breath from the run...Jeez he needed to start jogging on the regular or something-

 

_SCREECH_

The sound was demonic, causing him to grip both of his ears in pain. Like a hyped-up version of the dinosaur squealing just before the movie had been turned off. Peter’s vision whirled and he stumbled away from the ledge, about to collapse onto his bottom when something sharp dug into his chest. He cried out, suddenly lifted from the ground.

 

His arms flailed, almost expecting to look up and see Vulture. The owner of the talons cut harshly into the soft flesh of his chest. Instead, he saw wings…Not mechanical wings…

 

Reptilian.

 

Almost… _Almost_ like a pterodactyl.

 

_You’re screwing with me. Bullshit. BULLSHIT._

Peter’s hands wrapped around the claws, yanking, letting out a cry as it sliced the gash wider. He was released, plummeting down onto the hard roof. His head snapped back, eyes crossing and teeth jarring. His hand instinctively raised to the wetness spreading over his chest and he stumbled to his feet, looking up at the animal hovering above him.

 

It definitely looked like some kind of prehistoric animal.

 

But, unmistakably, it had the face of a woman…

 

Her features were clear. Human. But she was _not_.

 

She screeched again, and Peter cringed, stumbling and holding where his chest was bleeding. Just when he thought she was going to swoop back down and attack him, she instead gave a sharp flap of her wings, retreating up into the polluted night sky. Peter choked, relieved, however short lived…

 

He gasped, falling against the edge of the building, the water swirling below with the dock hugging close. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and readying to call Tony’s number when it happened.

 

There was a quake under the building. Slightly.

 

A flash of bright light.

 

The sound came after. It almost felt like a long time after that it split his ears. A giant boom echoing across the water and throwing Peter sideways, off the collapsing structure into the water below. Even in the dead of summer, it was icy on his skin.

 

His neck slung back, whiplash shocking him and a large piece of debris making contact with the side of his head as water started to fill Peter’s lungs and mouth.

 

_Ropes around legs. Ropes around legs._

_Parachute._

_Vulture._

Orange flames littered the top of the water and Peter sunk deeper. Deeper. Deeper. His hands floating uselessly in front of him.

 

The gash didn’t hurt anymore.

 

A devil with horns swam towards him.


	5. The Longest Summer Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”
> 
> The masked face found him. One large stride and he was directly in front of where Peter was slumped down on the couch, his lids squinted against the lamp. He looked into the darkened eyes, flinching heavily when a gloved hand shot out and grabbed his face harshly. The woman stepped forward, but ultimately didn’t intervene again. Peter cringed, bruising under the hand that prodded his face, less than gently.
> 
> What the man said next made Peter’s stomach drop.
> 
> “And you’re Tony Stark’s child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another chapter for all of you. I love you guys so much <3 I hope you've all been enjoying thus far. Let me know what you think!

It was the hardest he’d slept in a long time. Hard enough to dream vividly.

 

It wasn’t the empty panic like it had been for the past several weeks. There were faces. The walls of the hospital. Doctor Windsor telling him Aunt May was dead. Nurse Penny holding his hand. Ms. Orville watching with hard eyes as Tony helped him sign the release papers. The cold night biting at his bare feet, because he had been too upset, too afraid, too panicked to put on shoes when he had left his apartment in Queens, not knowing the sort of mess he was sprinting into.

 

The car ride home from the funeral. Tony hugging him too tightly to be out of affection. Like an attempt to hold him still, to not hurt him.

 

Aunt May was gone and Peter, despite the weeks of therapy, still struggled to come to terms with that.

 

It was like a dream had slipped him into that old, sharp, digging pain.

 

Like it was a fresh wound, opening slowly, then stitching shut again with comfort. Every time he thought he was nearing peace, more pain was explored. Torn. Just a stich here and there. But May always came back. Guilt always came back. Doctor Middleton helped, but it wasn’t a cure. She had been very clear about that. That the hurt may never fully go away because that was just what happened when people died.

 

It took a few moments, a few moments of slipping out of the nightmare to realize that the pain he was feeling wasn’t emotional or from the slumber.

 

It was real.

 

Peter felt the urge to cry out when something tugged on his chest, something burning digging into his flesh. It was like it all came back at once. The waking world and all that followed. Stinging right above his heart, near the surface. Not his heart itself, but it hurt…hurt…

 

“I cannot believe this,” A voice, a woman, snapped, “He’s a child! You’re sure he’s the one you saw in the mask last night?”

 

She sounded far away, like his head had been dunked underwater.

 

A more familiar voice came, one that Peter envisioned with a mask and horns…

 

“I’m sure. It’s definitely him.”

 

“Where’s his suit? Why was he just…wearing a hoodie?”

 

“I don’t know, Claire.”

 

Peter opened his eyes blearily. The world shifted and turned, like he was on a merry-go-round. The room was dim, barley lit, besides a lamp shining close to his right, illuminating his bare chest. He found the source of the pain was a woman, tying off what appeared to be stitches, sticking out from his skin.

 

His eyes then lifted to another figure. A man, tall, pacing back and forth in a living room maybe…Behind the man was an open bedroom.

 

Horns. The guy had horns and a mask and Peter almost grabbed the lamp from beside him and threw it.

 

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

 

His heart began to race and almost simultaneously, the man’s head whipped in his direction as he snapped to the woman, “He’s awake.”

 

The lady looked up from where she was working on tying off his stiches. Her hands were red and bloodied, probably coated in his own crimson, but he didn’t think he wanted to ask. Peter shifted a bit, biting back a whimper as the man in the mask stepped forward. His hoodie was gone. No way to cover his face. But the guy couldn’t know…could he? Then again, he had said…He had said…

 

Peter scrambled, trying to jump forward from the couch, but a hand pushed roughly on his chest, on the opposite side of the wound, and sent him down, hard. Peter’s head snapped back and his chest _burned_. The woman stood, giving the man in the mask-the Devil- a shove on his own chest, snapping, “You’re going to screw up the stitches I just spent an hour doing! Not to mention, he’s a child! Back off!”

 

Gasping, Peter watched as the man stepped away, his jaw setting. The Devil threw out a hand angrily, shaking his head back and forth, “Yeah, a child that dresses up as a spider and gets himself attacked by humanoid reptiles.”

 

The boy breathed quietly, almost unable to find his voice…

 

“You’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

 

The masked face found him. One large stride and he was directly in front of where Peter was slumped down on the couch, his lids squinted against the lamp. He looked into the darkened eyes, flinching heavily when a gloved hand shot out and grabbed his face harshly. The woman stepped forward, but ultimately didn’t intervene again. Peter cringed, bruising under the hand that prodded his face, less than gently.

 

What the man said next made Peter’s stomach drop.

 

“And you’re Tony Stark’s child.”

 

Pause.

 

“But last time I saw you, you were in the Spider-Man suit.”

 

The hand released his face and Peter tried to find words. Tried to ask _how_ , just by touching his face, he had been able to come to such a conclusion. He wanted to ask who he was. Even the playing field a bit. If he hadn’t been injured, he would have jumped from the couch and ripped off the stupid horned devil mask himself. Made things fair.

 

The guy kneeled down in front of Peter, too close. Peter’s hand ran over his injury. Everything was hurting and his heart was racing. He could barely control his breathing, studying the face in front of him. He felt small. Like a tiny child about to be traumatized by a monster. There was silence, until the monster asked him…

 

“Why the _hell_ is Tony Stark letting a child run around in a suit?”

 

Peter shook his head, a bit of frustration welling, “He’s not… _letting_ me. I’m freaking Spider-Man. I do this because I want to, not because someone says I can. And I’ve been around longer than the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, or Daredevil, or whatever the hell they call you. At least my name isn’t plagiarized.”

 

The man’s mouth set in a hard line. One that made Peter regretful of his bravery or stupidity or whatever those words had been. He tried to shrink into the couch, but the wound on his chest tugged slightly, making him bite his lip in pain.

 

He trembled and tried to think. Tried to figure out how this guy even knew him. Sure he had been in the tabloids, but was that really all he needed to recognize Peter so quickly? How had he even known Peter was the one under the mask? Was he going to tell others?

 

A familiar anxiety arrived. On a magic carpet, covered in the moonlight seeping in through the two giant windows on his right.

 

His pulse spiked.

 

The man stiffened.

 

_He knew. He knew. He knew._

 

Peter lunged forward again, this time shoving the man back. The woman gasped in shock and jumped away as Peter attempted to get over the table in the center of the room and run towards the bedroom. However, the sudden movement pulled one of the several stitches on his chest, and a white flash of pain blinded him.

 

A hand wrapped tightly around his ankle and Peter’s body crumbled forward, hitting the floor, hard.

 

Maybe another stitch tore, because the pain only intensified.

 

Peter kicked out, making contact with the man, his bare foot shoving into his shoulder. He grabbed the leg of the table, trying to use it as leverage to pull himself away, warm blood pooling. The woman tried to step around the table towards him, but Peter shoved it at her, bumping her down to the ground. The Devil’s grip on his leg became harsher, gloves digging in like nails.

 

The boy was dragged forward, despite his kicking and a hand wrapped tightly around his throat, squeezing.

 

It wasn’t tight enough. Not enough to make him feel like he was dying, but enough to make his vision blur, though he thought that was probably the idea.

 

The Devil was trying to knock him out.

 

Peter used his fingernails, but the gloves blocked him from breaking skin.

 

“Stop, _Peter_ , stop,” The use of his name made him let out a sob, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

 

The darkening at the corners grew closer.

 

Peter tried to scream past the weight.

 

Maybe this was karma. After all, he had strangled that doctor to death on the Raft.

 

It was only fair that at some point it would happen to him.

 

…

 

FRIDAY had told him about the shooting.

 

FRIDAY of all people. Not even a ‘people’, but an AI had to inform him that the movie theater where Peter was, had been shot up. Pepper had already left for a meeting in D.C. He had been suffering in the quiet alone, thinking about Peter and shit. It had all turned to that when FRIDAY had told him. And when he looked at his phone, there were no missed calls from Peter.

 

When he tried to track the teen’s phone, there was no signal.

 

So, he could, at this point, only assume Peter was still at the theater.

 

His hands gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. There had been no time to call Happy. To ask him to pick him up. The run from the workshop to the car had been a blur and Tony couldn’t remember the last time he had moved that fast without his suit on, because despite his argument, he was in fact getting older and his knees didn’t move like they used to.

 

He slammed his hand down on the horn when the driver in a beat-up Toyota took too long to merge.

 

_You better be alright, kid. You better be with your friends._

A part of Tony, the deep, dark part of him knew that more than likely, it wasn’t the case. Because with or without his suit, Peter was self-sacrificial and would have put himself in front of a bullet if it meant saving a freaking gummy bear. Let alone a room full of innocent people. He didn’t want to imagine it. Imagine Peter throwing himself into danger without the Spider-Man suit. Without webshooters. Without a mask or some kind of protection.

 

At this rate, Tony assumed the only way to keep Peter alive would be to never let him leave the penthouse again. To never walk out the front door into the big bad world. That was all it was good for, was getting Peter shot, beaten, or kidnapped.

 

Even when he wasn’t putting himself in danger as Spider-Man, it seemed to flock to the kid. And maybe…maybe this was what fate had wanted all along. Maybe it hadn’t wanted any of Peter’s parental figures. Maybe it had just been trying to get to Peter the entire time. Trying to snatch him from the universe. As Tony whipped the steering wheel, pulling into the packed parking lot that was flashing with red and blue lights, he vowed that wouldn’t be the case.

 

_Screw off. Whatever being you are out there, stay the hell away from this kid._

Divine being or not, whoever they were, they’d have to answer to Tony.

 

Tony didn’t even pull into a parking space. He threw the door open, jumping out just as he put the car in park, leaving the door wide open as he stalked his way over to the large crowd of people that were surrounding the building. Police and ambulances alike were scattered everywhere. Men and women in uniforms tried to control the crowd, and get them lined up.

 

Children were wailing, along with some adults. Faces blurred into lines and Tony didn’t notice their tear stained cheeks as he shoved through, eyes scanning the crowd. The controlling and ever self-important part of him wanted to shout at the authorities for letting things get so disorganized, but shit happens when public tragedies occur.

 

Still, he wanted to grab a megaphone and direct the crowd. Call for Peter in the sea of foreheads.

 

“Mr. Stark!”

 

Tony’s head whipped around, briefly blinded by a police car that was pulled up dangerously close to the building. The voice definitely wasn’t Peter’s, but it was familiar. A head bobbed up over the crowd, moving towards him and Tony was able to put Ned’s name with his face. The teen looked completely shaken, his hands wiggling as soon as he was directly in front of Tony. Following him were two other teenagers. One of the girls Tony recognized from a few of Peter’s social media pictures and a pale boy with dark hair and a stoic face…

 

Tony didn’t have to guess. The boy looked too much like his mother and the tabloids typically had the teen’s face plastered to the front.

 

Harry Osborn.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the boy, he looked down at Ned who was breathing heavily, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees. Tony put a heavy had on his shoulder, squeezing tightly as he snapped, “Ned, where’s Peter?”

 

“P-Peter…” Ned gasped, “He…He disappeared…in…i-in the crowd. Oh God, Mr. Stark, I’m…I’m so sorry…There w-was gunfire and people started… _freaking_ out!”

 

Tony looked at the other two teens, hoping they could be of more help. His eyes lingered on Harry the longest, holding a bit of faith that maybe he inherited some kind of intelligence and could speak coherently. But his mouth was set into a thin line, eyes studying Tony like a puzzle. Almost like he was confused as to why Tony was even _there_.

 

Ned stood to full height and leaned forward, speaking just loud enough for Tony to hear…

 

“H-He disappeared, _disappeared_ …You gotta…You gotta find him, please, I-I don’t think he had anything with him.”

 

The man nodded, understanding, his eyes grim as he rounded the three teens up and pointed at his car where the door was still open. He ordered, his voice holding no room for argument, “Go wait there. I’ll text my driver that he needs to come get the three of you and he’ll bring you all home. Call your parents.”

 

His eyes found Harry’s, “Especially you. I don’t need to hear shit about this tomorrow.”

 

Tony didn’t wait for a response. He moved away, pulling out his cellphone and shooting Happy a quick text message. His feet carried him mechanically towards the building, but before he could even get within thirty feet of the front door, a police officer stepped into his path. His eyes held knowing… _knowing_ who Tony was. But without the suit, there was less authority there. Tony was just some guy, dressed casually in this situation. It didn’t matter if he was Iron Man, but like hell he was going to be treated like some nobody.

 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” The officer said, holding up a hand, “We can’t let anyone enter.”

 

Stepping forward an inch more, the officer’s eyes widened, not in surprise, but in slight fear as Tony growled, “You’re going to tell me what’s going on, right now.”

 

The officer was obviously startled, his mouth hanging open for so long, Tony thought he would catch flies. He shook his head, his pale face regaining just a bit of color. Being ordered around by Iron Man wasn’t an everyday occurrence and most people more than likely preferred life without having to ever experience it.

 

Squirming under Tony’s icy gaze, the man replied, “We’re not…entirely positive yet. There doesn’t appear to be any injuries. We’re thinking it was some sort of gang related stunt. Maybe an initiation of sorts. Security showed two masked men entered an empty side lobby and just fired randomly into the walls and ceiling…”

 

He paused and Tony wanted to strangle him for taking so long.

 

“They’re not sure if it’s connected to the explosion down by the docks.”

 

Tony was definitely going to end up choking this guy to death, if not for his irritation, but the guy was the only thing in arms reach that Tony could hurt at the given moment.

 

The billionaire asked, his jaw tight, “What explosion?”

 

The officer pointed behind himself clumsily, “T-There was an explosion about fifteen minutes after the first round of shots fired. I-I thought, you know, you’d have heard or something I-I…”

 

Tony was making the guy nervous. Whatever. He was no help anyway.

 

Running a hand through his hair, he considered calling his suit. But a part of him screamed that in a mixture of panic like this, it would only make things worse, especially if the movie-goers were aware of the explosion and thought it was connected in some way. People would be on high alert. A stampede was the last thing anyone needed, because the way people were moving about in large clumps, any sort of emotional jarring would be horrendous.

 

His phone let out a sharp ring and he fumbled to get it out of his pocket. Half-hoping to see Peter’s name on the screen, he was instead met with a blocked number. He only hesitated a second before he answered harshly, “Hello?”

 

Ransom? Kidnapper? Where the hell was his damn kid?

 

_“Tony,”_ A familiar voice said from the other end.

 

Natasha.

 

“Hell no,” Tony snapped, turning his head and looking around. He knew she had to be somewhere in the shadows, but he couldn’t pinpoint where, “Hell no, _hell no_. I swear to God, if this has anything to do with you or that damned cosplayer, I’m going to start throwing punches. _Where_ is my kid? I fucking _dare_ you to lie to me.”

 

_“Hey!”_ There were few instances where Natasha lost her cool. Very few in which she showed any hint of emotion. But she sounded angry. Her tone low as she hissed, _“Talk to me like that again and I’ll be tempted to leave you high and dry. I had nothing to do with this. And I tried to intervene but I don’t have super powers like some people’s teenagers-“_

Tony interjected, “So you saw him? You saw him and you’re only just _now_ calling me? Where is he?”

 

She sighed on the other end, _“He was too fast, Tony. Peter went sprinting after the guys who opened fire inside the theater. They were setting up a trap for Daredevil, but Peter got in the way and some kind of…I don’t even know…A pterodactyl? Flew in and grabbed him. Then the building exploded and…and Daredevil pulled Peter out of the bay.”_

Tony couldn’t seem to form words, his brain stuck on both pterodactyl and Peter being pulled out of the bay by Daredevil.

 

_“I lost him, Tony. I don’t know where he took Peter, but the kid was unconscious.”_

Tony lowered the phone from his ear, tempted to chunk it across the parking lot into the crowd of people. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, looking up at the sky. Fighting down panic attacks had become second nature, but there, in the flashing lights of the police cars, he was struggling. The last time someone had taken Peter…No, no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this.

 

He lifted his phone back to his ear and growled darkly, “I’m going to find him. And when I do, keep your _shit_ away from him.”

 

A part of him knew this wasn’t Natasha’s fault. Peter had been the one to chase the guys. But Peter was missing and Natasha was the only one he could blame right now other than himself. It was easier to point fingers at others. Blame them.

 

He hung up the phone, moving through the crowds of people towards his car. Happy hadn’t arrived yet, but the traffic would more than likely be backed up as people came searching for loved ones. The three teens had piled into the back seat. As Tony got closer, the driver’s side door yanked open and Harry’s face appeared, stone cold, almost devoid of any emotion.

 

“You didn’t find him,” Harry stated bluntly.

 

“That obvious?” Tony replied, but Harry looked unaffected by the harshness behind the words.

 

Harry leaned out the door, looking at Tony as if studying him curiously. He then said, “You’re freaking out.”

 

Tony wanted to tell the kid to get out of his car and walk home. Shaking his head, he looked away and Harry continued, “He’s not even your kid.”

 

“Alright, _shut up_ ,” Tony whirled his head back towards Harry, “Did you call Norman? He needs to come get you, because I’m not above kicking a fifteen-year-old’s ass and I don’t think you’ll survive the wait for Happy to get here.”

 

Harry scoffed, “If I did, he wouldn’t come. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even here.”

 

That caused the man to pause. Only a brief moment. He didn’t feel like he was talking to Norman at all, he felt like he was talking to a younger version of himself. Cynical and angry at everyone and anyone. Especially people who were fathers. It was so opposite to Peter’s optimism. Even since May’s death, Peter hadn’t quite crossed into that threshold where Tony had lived and apparently Harry Osborn lived too.

 

Tony didn’t have time to have therapy with a kid that wasn’t his though, especially when his actual kid was missing.

 

Bluntly, Tony replied, “Don’t hide your pessimism behind your daddy issues, kid. It’s unbecoming, and I don’t feel like talking about Norman’s bad parenting while my own kid is off God knows where. _Yeah_ , I’m freaking the hell out, now back off.”

 

Harry’s face remained unfazed. Sighing, the teen looked out at the flashing lights before considering Tony once more. Harry shrugged, “Just…don’t fucking pretend to care about him if you don’t, Stark. He’s better than you and me.”

 

Tony was taken aback a moment, before he let out a sound of disbelief…

 

“You think I don’t know that?”

 

…

 

He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was tied to a chair.

 

The weight on his wrists was what really gave it away. And the fact that even though he felt like he was falling forward, he really wasn’t because something around his abdomen was keeping him upright. His neck ached, rolled to the side, limp and no matter how much he tried, he could barely muster the strength to move it in the slightest, let alone lift it.

 

It wasn’t like all the times he had woken up in places, not knowing where he was. He remembered it all vividly, and part of him didn’t want to leave his ‘lack-of-oxygen’ induced sleep. Because that was less scary. Less scary than staring into the eyes of a mask. And behind that mask, the person knew his name. Knew his face. Knew he was Spider-Man and Peter didn’t understand how.

 

“I know you’re awake.”

 

The voice was low, rumbling. Terrifying. Peter’s eyes snapped open reflexively, without his consent, and his neck finally jarred upward. The stiffness disappeared. The weakness replaced by a new-found adrenaline and fear. He tugged on his arms, and sure enough, they were tired tightly to the armrests of an unfamiliar chair. He was still shrouded in the darkness of the living room from before, and he wondered if they were still in the same night, or if he had been asleep for a whole twenty-four hours.

 

Probably not. Surely…

 

Peter cringed when his eyes landed on the masked man in front of him.

 

He wasn’t standing, but instead sitting on the couch where Peter had been lying before. Peter was no longer facing a bedroom, but a kitchen was settled behind the man. Nothingness dug in. Peter’s fingers were going numb from the tightness of the ropes of his wrists. He shifted slightly, trying to figure out if he could get any room to move.

 

None.

 

Nothing.

 

“Stop panicking.”

 

Was he?

 

Peter shook his head and spoke, his voice coming out like he hadn’t had water in a lifetime, “I-I’m not.”

 

_Spider-Man doesn’t panic._

A sound of disbelief escaped the man and Peter had the urge to roll his eyes, because it sounded too much like Tony. But he thought better of it, remembering the hand that had wrapped so tightly around his throat and shoved him into the floor. His chest ached, the stitches pulling, and he wondered briefly where the woman was and if she had replaced the sutures he had pulled.

 

“Where’d…” Peter coughed, trying to clear his throat, “Where’d she go?”

 

The man’s head tilted curiously, “She left.”

 

Shame. Peter liked her better. She had tried to help him. Tugging slightly on his bindings, Peter chewed on his bottom lip with worry. The man spoke so little and it was unnerving. His sentences were sharp. He sounded like a calm-angry.

 

Peter shut his eyes, trying to remind himself he wasn’t sitting in front of Ross.

 

That’s when the man said it…

 

“I don’t hurt children.”

 

Peter’s eyes burned and he looked straight into the mask, his lip almost shaking, “I’ve heard that one before.”

 

“I believe you.”

 

There it was again. The short response. Like nothing. No reassurance in his cold tone. Finally though, what Peter had been waiting for came. The question game. Where people wanted answers and berated him, even though he hardly ever held the cards they wanted. The Devil asked, leaning forward a bit from his place on the couch, “Who is the woman that has been trailing me?”

 

Peter let out a startled laugh. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

 

“Dude,” Peter breathed, “She’s…She’s freaking Black Widow.”

 

The man’s shoulders tensed. He sounded a bit unbalanced when he followed up, “What does she want?”

 

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Peter shrugged, “She thinks you know something about the human trafficking stuff that’s been going on.”

 

“And what do you know about it?”

 

“Not much,” Peter clicked his tongue, trying not to stare for too long, trying not to think about the fact that this stranger knew his stupid name, “I’m just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. I don’t get involved with this stuff. The adults don’t like it.”

 

There was an angry scoff, “And by adults I assume you mean Tony Stark.”

 

Peter’s heart dropped. Right. Right. The guy knew. He knew and Peter _knew_ he knew. But hearing his voice it was a different matter entirely and Peter wasn’t used to this. His fingers started to shake, despite their numbness. He wanted to vomit, but he had already bled on the guy’s floor when he got choked, so he felt he should avoid adding bile to the list.

 

His fingernails almost broke as he whispered quietly, “How did you know? How did you…I mean, h-have you seen tabloids? B-But that doesn’t explain how you knew it was me in the costume when I saw you-“

 

“You don’t need an explanation,” The man wasn’t looking at him, his head tilted again and it was an odd behavior that Peter had picked up on. Like he was moving to hear better. The masked face turned to stare at him again and…it never felt like he was really being _looked_ at.

 

The Devil continued, “And you need to stay out of this. You don’t understand it.”

 

“Well, I’m known for meddling in things I don’t understand,” Peter replied.

 

The man’s response caused him to hit the brakes.

 

“Is that how you got caught up with Thaddeus Ross?”

 

Peter felt the blood rush out of his face. He really just…Couldn’t believe this. It was one thing to know about him being Spider-Man, but to know what had happened with Ross as well? That definitely hadn’t been released to the public. Peter racked his brain, trying to think of where the guy could have gotten that from…

 

The boy gulped, unable to look up anymore, only at the ground. He had failed. He was in so much trouble. He had screwed up somewhere along the line. He was always screwing up.

 

Peter murmured, “How did you know that?”

 

“Special privilege,” Another short answer. Another question in Peter’s head.

 

The man stood suddenly, causing Peter to flinch, staring up with wide-round eyes. He only paused half a second to regard Peter, before grabbing a dark bag next to him…Maybe a pillowcase? Peter didn’t have to be told what it was for, even before it was being thrown over his head and wrapped around his throat, though not close enough to cause pain, enough to know it was there…

 

The bindings were cut and Peter was assisted in standing, his knees knocking and the sutures in his chest pulling. The hand on his upper arm held him steady, and Peter was pulled forward without much warning. He heard a door opening, and even though his mind was spinning, and the darkness was overwhelming, he managed to start counting his steps.

 

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight steps. Three flights of stairs. Right turn. Another door. Outside. Left turn. Puddle. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…_

_…Eight-hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

Something rectangular was placed into his palm. A voice whispered into his ear…

 

“Please _Peter_. Stay away from this.”

 

Then…Nothing.

 

Peter didn’t hesitate to rip the bag off of his head. He looked around the darkened area, finding himself in a back alley, God knows where. The Devil was nowhere to be seen and Peter looked down at the item in his hand…

 

His cellphone.

 

Over a hundred missed calls and texts from his friends and Tony.

 

Peter’s hands shook, dialing Tony’s number as he used his other hand to hold his aching chest over his hoodie...

 

_Unreal_.


	6. Diners and Ketchup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop.
> 
> His vision blurred almost completely, spreading over his eyes like the ocean. It burned like salt and Peter felt his legs go limp beneath him, but he didn’t mind.
> 
> The tile floor with a ketchup stain seemed more inviting than Tony shouting his name in terror before he hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took a bit of time! I started another story and plus I'm out of state on vacation, but I managed to finish this chapter in our cabin so I hope you all enjoy. I'll update my other story next and interchange with this one of course. I hope you all enjoy! Love you guys! xx

Peter’s eyes were burning.

 

As he sat silently, in a grimy alleyway, his eyes burned with exhaustion. He had slumped on an abandoned crate, hand still holding where he had been gashed open by the reptilian woman. His heart was thudding slowly, calmly, but his brain was fried and continued to race without his permission. The urge to curl up on the concrete was strong. The sky was turning orange with the threat of morning and the heat was already starting to build for another summer day.

 

His fingers skimmed over his throat, remembering the hands that had grabbed him. Remembering the voice that had said his name. That knew him. Maybe the quiet really was creeping in, because he felt a tightness in his chest, an ache that said _, “You are useless. You are weak. You are a failure.”_

Peter shook his head.

 

He wanted Aunt May. He wanted her to hold his hand and card her hand through his hair and tell him everything was alright. He wanted to ask her why, after so many months and therapy, he couldn’t seem to let go of the deep pain that kept creeping up when he was alone and awake and unable to sleep.

 

Most of all, he wanted her to tell him everything was going to be okay in the voice only she could speak.

 

And sure, Pepper was a close second. Pepper was good at that sort of thing. But the fact of the matter was, she wasn’t May and Peter couldn’t just go back to the penthouse and ask her to make everything better because she worked a lot and Peter was pretty sure she had already left for another trip. He was well-aware of the whispers, when Tony and Pepper thought he was asleep, of Tony refusing to take meetings outside of New York because that would mean leaving Peter alone in the big empty penthouse.

 

He had assured them on many occasions he would be alright alone, but now with the quiet, he wasn’t so sure.

 

Peter didn’t even feel alright alone in that alley.

 

He saw the shadow of a car pulling up to the curb at the entrance. It stopped and Peter stood immediately, swaying only a bit before moving to the vehicle as quickly as his feet would carry him. He didn’t want Tony to get out. Didn’t want to have some sort of confrontation right there in the street. And he couldn’t stand. Couldn’t be up for more than a few moments.

 

Peter yanked the car door open, just as Tony was about to get out. After practically falling into the seat, did he look over at the man who had a disheveled appearance about him. Maybe just as bad as Peter’s. Exhaustion was evident. He hadn’t shaven. Peter swallowed thickly, still holding his chest as he shifted, the wounds tugging in the slightest under his clothing.

 

He stared back at the buildings through the windows. Memorized the street. The alley. The footsteps.

 

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

They pulled away from the curb before Tony said anything…

 

“Where did he go?”

 

Peter leaned heavily against the door, throat dry. Tony was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. His jaw was set like he was fighting the urge to lose his mind. Peter whispered, “He bagged my head and left me in the alley.”

 

There was a breath. One of the hands released the steering wheel, but then returned sharply as Tony ground out, “What were you _thinking_? Running off without your suit?”

 

“I wasn’t thinking.”

 

He flinched when Tony’s voice returned full force, “I know you weren’t!”

 

“I’m stupid, I know,” Peter groaned, pressing his face to the glass. He just wanted to fall out the door.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony glance at him quickly, regret slapping the man across the face. He breathed in defeat, “You’re…You’re not stupid, Peter. You just don’t think about…these things!”

 

What would Tony say if he knew about Daredevil knowing his name?

 

Tony followed up with, “Are you trying to get hurt or killed?”

 

Peter sat up so straight that his wound pulled and it took all of his power not to double over. He defended, “Okay, this was different. This wasn’t patrol and I wasn’t prepared.”

 

He took a breath…

 

“You’re yelling at me.”

 

Tony replied, “I know!”

 

“Okay,” Peter hissed, “Well, we’re not supposed to be doing that or else Doctor Middleton is going to _yell_ at _us_!”

 

Silence followed. Uncomfortable. Tony looked like he was fuming, but swallowing down every word he wanted to say and this was wrong. This was like Before and Peter didn’t want to go back to those miserable months of shouting at one another. But they were handling it _wrong_. Suppressing instead of talking calmly and maybe they were doomed to just live this way forever. Never really hearing each other.

 

Staring _through_ each other.

 

Peter slammed his head back against the head rest and breathed deeply through his nose, “I-I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. I’m just… _tired_.”

 

“I know you are,” Tony said, the anger dissipating just enough for him to sound understanding, “I knew you were last night too, but you won’t tell me what’s going on. So, I’m going to end up letting Doctor Middleton yell at us and then maybe you’ll _talk_.”

 

Peter turned his head again, looking out the window, his eyes threatening to produce tears…

 

“Peter…” Tony sounded desperate, “Is it quiet?”

 

_It’s creeping in._

Mutely, Peter shook his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat and blinking away tears.

 

“Are you _sure_?”

 

“Y-Yes,” Peter stuttered, attempting to hide the way his voice wavered.

 

Tony sighed, shaking his head, “Something is _wrong_ and you’re not telling me what it is.”

 

Peter’s head whipped in his direction and this time his voice did quake uncontrollably, tears shining in the dim car, “What’s wrong is, I have stitches in a giant gash on my chest that’s trying to heal rapidly and they’re pulling. It _hurts_ and they need to come out. So please, c-call Mr. Rhodes to come do that.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Tony sighed, glancing from the road to the teen that was on the verge of tears. He reached out, pushing Peter back against the seat gently, keeping the other hand on the wheel, “Just…take a deep breath.”

 

Peter sniffed, hiding his face. He didn’t say that the real reason he was crying wasn’t just from the discomfort. He could handle that.

 

Daredevil knew his name.

 

And he didn’t think he’d ever sleep again.

 

“I don’t think you should go to MIT Prep today.”

 

The sun hadn’t even come up yet for the day to start, but Peter agreed weakly from behind his hands, “Yeah, that’s…that’s probably better.”

 

…

 

Rhodey had a gentle hand. Something Tony was immensely grateful for because he didn’t think he had the will to watch Peter suffer anymore.

 

Before they had even returned to the penthouse, Rhodey was waiting. A non-Doctor-built-in-doctor. When the kid had removed his hoodie to reveal the jagged line spreading over his chest with evidence of stitching and then re-stitching, both Tony and Rhodey had asked for some kind of explanation.

 

Then Peter had brought up the same pterodactyl Nat had mentioned and Tony’s brain had shut off.

 

Peter laid on the couch while Rhodey worked, and Tony pretended to busy himself while his mind threw thought after thought in his face: Peter was shaking too much. He was too pale. He was tired, and the bags under his eyes were horrific. The evidence seemed clear, but Tony wondered why it had taken him so long to think it was an actual problem.

 

This kid was _not_ sleeping.

 

And it made sense. Tony knew that kind of suffering. Shutting the eyes and not being able to drift off. Or drifting off and not staying there but only a few hours. It seemed like something simple. Something easy that Peter would offer information about. But for some reason he was opting to hide it, and Tony would be lying if he didn’t feel like shit for not noticing sooner.

 

Leaning over the counter, he listened to Rhodey try to make small talk with Peter, but the boy wasn’t offering much. He hadn’t really offered anything concerning Daredevil. Where he had been taken and why. Really, the kid had said nothing of the whole experience and Tony wanted to ask, but the fact that Peter was deteriorating reigned over the ass-hat that ran around with horns on his damned head.

 

Maybe he deserved the worst adopted-father award because, shit, he hadn’t _seen_ it.

 

And he should have.

 

Because he too lived it.

 

Running a hand through his hair, he straightened when Peter slowly peeled from the couch, pulling his hoodie back over his head, walking back towards where his bedroom would be down the hallway. Tony waited, and waited some more until he knew for sure he could hear the shower running. Taking large strides, Tony dropped down into the living room where Rhodey was packing his items.

 

“He’s not sleeping.”

 

Tony’s voice was monotone, but the distress he felt was tangible. Rhodey looked up, brows furrowing in confusion until Tony clarified, “Peter. He isn’t sleeping.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘not sleeping’?” Rhodey set his bag down.

 

“As in, me post-New York,” Tony sunk slowly onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face, “Not at all. Running on a few hours every night, tops. I bet if I asked FRIDAY for a full-on record, it would be worse.”

 

Rhodey sat next to him, hands wringing, “How long?”

 

That was where the guilt lived. Tony should have seen it.

 

“Since a little before Greece, I think,” He breathed sharply, shutting his eyes, “That’s when he started getting antsy late at night. Sleeping in weird places. I thought…ya know, the kid is still adjusting. And school had let out so he wasn’t having to get up early. But he just kept getting worse…”

 

Tony scoffed, “And I didn’t say a _damn_ thing.”

 

Shaking his head, Rhodey insisted, “C’mon, you can’t do that. The kid…the kid isn’t the only one adjusting to this new life, you know? You are too. And sometimes when you confront kids about stuff, they hide it, so it’d make sense you’d be wary about going to him out front…”

 

He paused, then continued…

 

“But I do think you should bring it up with Middleton. It’s…Not normal or healthy for him. He might need help, like medicine wise.”

 

Tony pointed at Rhodey’s bag, “Why can’t you just, like…sedate him?”

 

“I’m going pretend you’re not serious,” Rhodey snapped, “We’re not sedating a fifteen-year-old against his will and it wouldn’t be a long-term fix.”

 

And that was that. The easiest idea was the worst, but Tony had found some time ago that, that was typically how things worked out. After walking Rhodey to the elevator, Tony paced the foyer for a long time, arms crossed and his head lowered. He knew what he needed to do, but being confrontational with Peter had been lost when starting sessions with Doctor Middleton.

 

He didn’t want to ask.

 

He was afraid to hear more of what he hadn’t seen soon enough.

 

Tony had never entertained the idea that he was doing a good job at parenting, but this reinforced the anxiety.

 

_Stop being a coward. He’s a fifteen-year-old child, not an alien._

Relenting, Tony move down the hallway towards the boy’s bedroom. The door was cracked and as he pushed it open, he noticed Peter sitting on the floor beside his bed. His head was leaning back, resting on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Both arms were wrapped around his knees that he had pulled to his chest.

 

He looked so tiny.

 

As the door squeaked open, his head popped up, eyes unfocused and bleary with tiredness. How had Tony missed that of all things? He was so blind.

 

Tony shoved his hands in his pocket, swaying awkwardly as he nodded his head towards the bed behind the boy, “You should probably get some sleep, yeah? You’ve been up all night.”

 

A cruel tactic, but Tony felt it was necessary.

 

“I’m okay,” Peter shrugged.

 

Okay, that… _That_ was bullshit. Enough to make Tony slightly angry, but getting mad at Peter now…it wouldn’t work. He’d shut down. Tony removed his hands from his pockets, shoulders going tense at the words. That was all he let himself feel of that emotion, because it was dangerous and it started fires he couldn’t control.

 

Having a screaming match with a teen probably suffering from insomnia was not good.

 

“You’re not.”

 

Peter’s brows tugged, his hair covering his forehead from the shower. Tony went on, sounding harsher than he had intended, “You’re not sleeping.”

 

The boy’s face looked offended, “I sleep.”

 

Tony tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest, “Do you stay asleep?”

 

Peter’s eyes hit the floor instantly, head tilting away. He whispered, “A few hours.”

 

“How many?”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

Tony pointed at the ceiling, “Then I’ll just ask FRIDAY.”

 

Peter’s eyes hit him again, wide and shocked…maybe even a bit betrayed as he spoke softly through a weak voice, “You can’t do that, that’s something the old Mr. Stark would do.”

 

“Well you know what?” Tony questioned, “This whole ‘not talking thing’ is something the old Peter would do.”

 

That seemed to extinguish something in the child. Something harsh and loud and maybe sort of brave. A stupid and childish brave shrouded in a desire to prove oneself. Tony didn’t understand it, but he knew he had been there once. Maybe when he was young, he had wrapped his head around the concept, or even then he might not have even known what it was.

 

Teenagers were odd.

 

Peter moved ever so slightly from his place on the floor, running his hands through his hair and holding both sides of his head as if to cover his ears from hearing anymore. Realization crossed the boy’s eyes, then defeat, and then a pain Tony didn’t want to see.

 

“Okay…” Peter whispered, “Okay…okay…”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Okay?”

 

Peter’s hands fell limply at his sides and he groaned, “I-I haven’t…You know, been sleeping well. Sometimes I’m…I’m not even sure if I’ve slept at all.”

 

His head lowered, and Tony felt guilt beginning to etch into him. Could he have pressed too hard? The kid’s shoulders were shaking, and he looked like a leaf in the breeze. Broken and on the edge of shattering completely. When he looked back up at Tony, his eyes were red, but he had to give the kid credit, he knew how to fight tears.

 

“And I can’t remember my Mom and Dad’s faces.”

 

That seemed, random. Like an afterthought of sorts.

 

Tony sat down carefully, directly in front of Peter. The teen’s eyes watched him warily, as if expecting his words to be ones that Peter didn’t want to hear and chances were they would be. Because Tony’s suggestions tended to be things that made Peter flinch. Crawl. Reject.

 

Sighing, the man started slowly, “I know a sleep specialist. I’m going to make you an appointment.”

 

He didn’t leave it up for discussion, because Peter would say no and Tony’s head would explode.

 

Surprisingly, Peter’s face remained the same and Tony went on, “They’ll probably want you to be referred by someone. So I’ll call Doctor Middleton as well just in case.”

 

That was when the argument came. Tony knew it was too good to be true…

 

“I don’t need a doctor.”

 

_Don’t shout at the child. Don’t shout at the child._

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Tony gritted out, “You can’t just not sleep. Especially if you want to keep patrolling.”

 

Peter’s back hunched forward like he was being punched in the gut. Protecting his midsection, he all but whimpered, “I don’t want to go to a doctor.”

 

Confusion swiped. Peter didn’t have any trouble with Doctor Middleton until it was chased away with realization. Doctors. _The_ doctor. The man in the white coat on the Raft that Peter had, had nightmares about for weeks after returning home. Tony shook his head, knowing, knowing _that_ sort of trauma couldn’t just be forced away.

 

But Tony tried.

 

“You can’t avoid doctors for the rest of your life.”

 

Peter’s brown irises spoke ‘yes I can’ but his lower lip pouting said otherwise.

 

Tony stood, ignoring how his knees hurt before reaching out and offering a hand to Peter. He helped him get to his feet as well before pointing to the bed and ordering, “Lie down at least two hours. FRIDAY will tattle if you play on your phone.

Peter’s mouth went agape and Tony turned walking out of the room.

 

He was out the door before the teen could form words.

 

Possibly cowardly. _Possibly_ a last resort.

 

…

 

The clock had become something of a curse.

 

Taunting him. Minute by minute, the frustration in the back of his mind grew. Wanting to fall asleep and nap. Rest after an entire night of ordeals. But that was nothing and empty. Hope that died after an hour of staring at the ceiling. Vapor. Like it never even existed.

 

Peter knew he was getting text messages. Right before lying down he had made sure to text Ned, MJ, and Harry all separately. To MJ and Harry, the lie had been a simple: _The crowd trampled me. I got knocked out._

To Ned: _I got thrown off a building. Kidnapped. Then returned to an alleyway. I’m fine, but I hate everything right now._

**MJ:** You dumbass.

 

 **Ned:** Oh God, I thought you were dead dude!

 

 **Harry:** Of course you’d be the one to get stomped on and leave me alone at prep.

 

Then the ceiling swallowed me up and he thought of very few things expect the fact that he wasn’t sleeping.

 

He counted and waited. The moment the two hours of torment ended, he was shooting up in bed. As soon as he had, the reached for his phone, surprised to see one extra text had arrived during his two hours of forced solitude. Sliding his finger over the screen, his vertigo focused in on an unknown number.

 

**You know where Shelley’s Diner is? Think you can meet me there for breakfast?**

**-Nat**

Peter stared blankly, then a familiar yet old sense of giddiness filled him, despite the seriousness of the past several hours. Black Widow had texted him? _Peter_? Asking to go to _breakfast_?

 

He gathered his nerved, shaking his head to clear the thoughts as he texted back:

 

**Sure, but I can’t lie to Mr. Stark.**

And that was true. Even though he had been lying about his thing-insomnia-for weeks, he didn’t want to lie about this. Because that would be pointless and cruel for not reason. Just acting up like a spoiled kid and the it-insomnia-was different. Totally so.

 

Bubble appeared on the screen until her response came:

 

**Invite him. We’ll have an outing.**

Right. That would go over so well with the man that was already strung out because of Peter’s not sleeping. Sure he didn’t want to lie, but telling the truth would just lead to Tony shutting down and Natasha probably had important information, more than likely about the Devil, and Peter didn’t want to miss it because Tony was still salty towards the Rogue Avengers.

 

Sliding from the bed, Peter made his way to the kitchen, where he found Tony leaning over the counter, drinking a mug of coffee. Not surprise. The man’s head whipped up, surprise evident. Maybe even worry as he looked at his watch, probably to check if the two hours had indeed passed.

 

“You didn’t sleep.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter brushed the comment off. Tony knew now, and that was bad enough. It didn’t need to be picked at worse than it probably would be by any doctors that Tony forced into his face. Instead he opted to focus on the matter at hand, “We need to go to Shelley’s Diner.”

 

Tony’s face went blank. No recognition.

 

He questioned, gesturing to some papers on the counter, “Well, I’m kind of busy. And that place isn’t exactly located in my favorite part of town. Nothing against them, but it’s an eye-sore.”

 

“We need to go,” Peter insisted, “We’re meeting someone important. Really, really important. Please just…trust me on this one. You don’t want me going alone, but I’ll have to if you don’t bring me because it’s practically an emergency.”

 

Tony set down his mug slowly, a questioning look flashing across his face…

 

“A Peter-Emergency or something that the rest of the world would deem an emergency.”

 

Peter ground his teeth, because saying something childish right now wouldn’t help him or Tony. His hands screwed together tightly and he grit out, “Please just bring me.”

 

The questioning in Tony’s face was making Peter falter in himself. This wasn’t fair. Really not fair, to be looked at like that by the man he was trying to please by not running off. He felt a form of relief when Tony pushed away from the counter, gesturing for Peter to follow him to the elevator.

 

Only one sentence was spoken inside: “This better not be unnecessary. You gotta rest.”

 

And Peter worried it was. Maybe it really wasn’t important and he had dragged Tony out for no reason. Like when he would tell Aunt May he couldn’t find something and she would threaten to fight him if she walked in and located it after a few seconds. That dreaded: ‘maybe I’m wrong. What if I’m wrong?’

 

The car ride, if possible was even more silent. Peter felt and awkward weight after his problem had been exposed without his permission. He hadn’t been ready. If it got bad, he would have told. Surely, Peter would have gone to someone eventually. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

 

He knew there was something wrong in the way he was losing faith in his own decision-making skills.

 

Tony was tapping the steering wheel and for some irrational reason, it made Peter nervous. He shook his leg, looking out the window and refusing to stare at Tony’s hard set face. He was holding in anger, but Peter was creating more secrets, but this wasn’t really an actual secret. At least Peter hoped so.

 

Shelley’s Diner had the best burgers.

 

Peter wished he could be excited to eat, but he was so tired.

 

As they climbed from the car, right before entering, Tony stopped him with a heavy hand on his arm, whispering, “If it’s ridiculous, we’re leaving and you’re going to lie down.”

 

“Okay,” Peter agreed, trying not to sound like he was verging on snapping Tony’s head off.

 

Even though Peter knew he only had himself to blame.

 

The two of them filed into the restaurant. It was choice seating, so right when Peter and Tony were about to find a place, Peter’s eyes landed on a woman in the corner booth. She was staring at the both of them, and it only took a second to connect that it was Black Widow, of course. She smirked slightly, and Peter looked over to see that Tony had seen her at just the same moment.

 

“No,” Tony hissed, leaning to speak in Peter’s ear, “Absolutely _not_.”

 

“She texted me,” Peter defended, “It seemed important. Please…Look I told you she asked me to come here. I even invited you! What if I had come alone?”

 

“You wouldn’t have come at all.”

 

“Well with this reaction, I will next time.”

 

Tony’s mouth went into a line. That must have jabbed something.

 

Peter’s shoulders sagged and he pleaded, “Let’s just hear what she has to say.”

 

Tony was silent, but his head nodding up and down in eventual defeat was enough to make Peter want to jump for joy. The teenager turned, rushing towards the booth before stepping aside to let Tony sit first. Peter smiled, small, because there was something difficult in smiling broadly at a woman that could actually shatter his neck.

 

The man’s face remained stoic. Unbothered, but almost boarding on an angry emotion.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite Starks,” Natasha hummed, beginning to sip the drink in front of her. She waved slightly saying, “I didn’t think you’d want anything, so I told the waiters not to worry about feeding you two. This is just a meeting after all.”

 

Nat looked at Tony, “I’m pleased to see you let him come.”

 

“Not willingly,” Tony’s tone was low, “Actually, he didn’t even tell me that you were the person we had to meet.”

 

Nat grinned, eyes finding Peter’s brown ones…

 

“Clever.”

 

Tony snapped, “Hey. Look, we’re here, alright? What the hell do you want? I told you on the phone to keep your shit away.”

 

Peter felt confused…When had he talked to her? Why was he still making those decisions for Peter?

 

“We both know that entire ordeal was not my fault,” She seemed to cast a cautious and sorry stare at Peter, “And I tried to get there in time to intervene, but the Devil is fast and quiet.”

 

Her eyes remained on Peter and she said, “I’m sure it’s weird that I asked you to come here. But, you’re the only one I know that has managed to get close to the Devil and escape without being hospitalized for either a drug addiction or a broken jaw.”

 

Peter nodded in understanding…

 

“You wanna know what I learned.”

 

Dread built up. This was where it would have to be said. But he wasn’t sure if he was ready for Tony to explode.

 

Nat gave a tight nod and Peter let out a breath…

 

“H-He was weird,” Why did the stutter come at the most inopportune times? “He just…He must have pulled me out of the water. I had this big gash, from some sort of giant pterodactyl woman. Maybe she was a-a mutant of some kind. The building exploded…”

 

Nat waved a hand, “Yes, I know. The guys were more than likely trying to lure the Devil out with the shooting and blow him to pieces or attack him with the mutated woman. But what happened after you woke up?”

 

Peter gave a sharp glance at Tony.

 

He whispered, eyes not leaving the man, even though he was talking to Nat, “H-He brought me to some sort of apartment maybe? A-and he had some woman stitch me up. He…He…”

 

_Say it. He needs to know. You’ve hidden enough. You’ve done enough._

“He knew my name.”

 

Peter’s voice cracked. Weak. Nat didn’t flinch in his peripheral vision, but Tony looked like he had been struck. Tony’s voice came through clenched teeth so the other people eating wouldn’t hear, “Why didn’t you _tell_ me _that_?”

 

The boy shot his eyes down at the table. Tony slammed his hand down and a few people looked over. Peter cringed, eyes burning as panic built. He had screwed up. Old Tony was back and it was his fault. Shaking his head back and forth, Peter croaked…

 

“I-I’m so sorry, I don’t. I don’t know how he knew, Mr. Stark. I really, really don’t I promise I didn’t…He acted like he wasn’t even looking at me and I-I can’t-“

 

_I can’t breathe. He knows my name. I can’t breathe._

It was setting in, now that someone else knew. Now that Tony was looking at him with worry and fear because he was concerned _for_ Peter. So this was bad? Really bad?

 

He was tired. So tired and the corners of his vision were blurred. Tony seemed to notice the sudden change in the teen’s demeanor, because his hand unclenched, anger faded, replaced with guilt. Nat was even leaning forward slowly, but her features remained unreadable.

 

“Pete?” Tony spoke softer this time.

 

_I’m so tired, I can’t…I can’t…_

Peter jumped from the booth, mind drifting…

 

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

 

His vision blurred almost completely, spreading over his eyes like the ocean. It burned like salt and Peter felt his legs go limp beneath him, but he didn’t mind.

 

The tile floor with a ketchup stain seemed more inviting than Tony shouting his name in terror before he hit the ground.


	7. Life is but a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not like…sick, sick, right?”
> 
> “It’s nothing really bad,” Peter looked away.
> 
> He heard Harry swallow thickly, “If it’s a tumor, you’re fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience on this update! I'm back home now from my trip, so I made sure to write as soon as I got back in-state. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Love you guys!

Peter would never forget the horrific embarrassment of being scraped off the ground by Iron Man and Black Widow.

 

Even though he knew them personally in real life, _really_ knew Iron Man, there was still that nagging _‘you idiot, how embarrassing’_ scratching at the back of his skull. They hadn’t complained when they had done it. When they had basically carried him to the car and laid him in the back seat. When he had covered his face with his hands and flushed bright red, hating himself for losing consciousness.

 

For being so tired.

 

For causing trouble in general.

 

Pooling in were the mental _‘you’re screwing up again, always, always screwing up and making things harder for the people who care about you’._ And he knew that was just the Quiet talking on the way home. When he had rolled over in the back of the vehicle and refused to reply to Tony’s questions. Only when Tony had told him he had to answer so he’d know that Peter was alright.

 

Another strike. Worrying Tony more than he already had.

 

It was bigger than it really was. The feelings and the anxiety he had. The gnawing on his psyche that he had royally messed up, because logically he knew he hadn’t. _Logically_ he knew he had just lost consciousness and that was that. He was overtired. He had been scolded. His heart had been going too fast.

 

Really, it wasn’t his fault, he knew, but it didn’t _feel_ like he knew.

 

Tony had helped him into bed, and still, sleep did not come. Tony paced, hours, in Peter’s bedroom, trying to wait him out. Hoping Peter would fall asleep maybe if he wasn’t alone. But Peter just stared at the ceiling. Stared at Tony. Begged to be allowed to just watch the television instead of being swallowed by darkness and worry.

 

He had listened to Tony’s phone call with Pepper. The phone call shrouded in panic, where Tony had asked her if it was wrong to give a teenager alcohol if it meant he’d sleep and Peter didn’t need super hearing to know that Pepper was shouting. Peter didn’t tell Tony he had already tried that, and his metabolism was just too fast.

 

Awkward exchange after awkward exchange occurred and Peter just wanted to be swallowed by his sheets. Because this wasn’t fair. The whole thing with Daredevil would be hard enough with sleep, let alone going through an insomnia-episode.

 

Peter truly felt, every single day, that he was inching closer to a precipice he would never come back from.

 

The week flew by, like a blur, the sun rising and setting, and Peter couldn’t tell anymore which was east and west. He just assumed. Pepper and Tony took turns checking on him in the night. Asking how long he had slept. Tony made the appointment with the sleep specialist, which Peter was not looking forward to because that was just _a_ _lot_.

 

Not another person in a coat. He mentally begged for it not to be so.

 

Peter’s fingers shook as he worked on his and Harry’s assignment for the day. The other teen was leaning over his shoulder, observing, too close and Peter just wanted to tell Harry to do it himself. Because his hands weren’t working right and Happy was watching him from across the crowded room and he could only imagine what the other teenagers were thinking, Stark’s kid showing up with their driver/bodyguard.

 

Harry finally said something about it…

 

“Not that I haven’t enjoyed our scary shadow for the past week, he brings breakfast, but why is he here?”

 

Peter hesitated, fingers pausing in his work and his mouth opening slightly, frozen mid-response while he searched for the correct thing to say. It felt wrong, to share this thing. To tell anyone when he hadn’t even told MJ and Ned. He didn’t want people to know he was messed up.

 

Harry didn’t wait, continuing, “Does it have to do with what happened at the movies?”

 

“What? No,” Peter shook his head, “No, I-I’ve just, been having some…trouble. Happy is here to make sure I don’t get sick.”

 

Peter hooked another wire, “A-And he has to bring me to an appointment today.”

 

When Harry said nothing, Peter looked up. If possible, his skin looked paler, eyes blinking as he ran a hand through his dark hair. He actually looked anxious, worried, the blank expression hidden and that was weird, Peter thought. Weird for Harry.

 

“You’re not like… _sick_ , sick, right?”

 

“It’s nothing really bad,” Peter looked away.

 

He heard Harry swallow thickly, “If it’s a tumor, you’re fucked.”

 

Peter’s head whipped up in surprise, eyes wide. Harry’s face had gone blank again, staring at Peter with a dead look. Unsurprised. Unfazed. Empty. Like he had shut off everything. Peter stepped back, looking at the taller teen before hissing, “Harry.”

 

“Sorry, I forgot you don’t say that word,” Harry scoffed, “Well, anyway a tumor literally ate my mom’s brain so I’m just saying, you’re fucked.”

 

Peter shook his head before giving an exasperated sigh, “It’s not a tumor.”

 

Harry picked up one of the wires, using it to shock Peter’s wrist. Peter jumped, gasping in surprise before glowering. Harry leaned on the table and nodded, “So what is it then?”

 

Peter rubbed the mark on his wrist before looking at the floor. He relented when Harry seemed like he wasn’t going to drop the subject, “I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept properly in weeks…and it’s making it hard to, you know, _survive_. And Mr. Stark is freaked out, so I’m freaked out by default.”

 

“C’mon, sleep aids aren’t hard to find, Petey,” Harry’s dead expression melted, “Or alcohol.”

 

_You think I don’t know that? I live with a recovering alcoholic._

Peter instead tilted his head away, eyes meeting Happy’s who was staring at him. He pointed at his watch and Peter understood, asking Harry, “Think you can finish up without me? Looks like it’s time for me to go.”

 

Harry shrugged, “I guess. Will you be here tomorrow?”

 

“Should be,” Peter started to move away.

 

The other smirked slightly, “Good, because we’re going on an adventure during our lunch break.”

 

Peter wanted to groan. The last thing they needed was to sneak away and get into trouble for leaving the conference center. But he made eye contact with Happy again who began to rush him with a wave of his hand and Peter just nodded, both to Happy and Harry. They both understood the silent response.

 

Peter followed Happy out, ignoring the curious stares.

 

That was just life now.

 

Curious stares and tired eyes and people who were places they didn’t want to be.

 

…

 

The car ride with Happy was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just silent besides the radio playing softly in the background. Peter stared out the window, ignoring how his heart was racing at the idea of having to be observed and watched. He kept reminding himself that they weren’t going to drug him. It wasn’t going to be like the Raft.

 

That was hard though, especially when logic was thrown out the window with sleep.

 

To his surprise, Happy didn’t ask anything about Harry. Even though he knew the man didn’t like any of the Osborns, Peter had to guess it was only because of what Tony had told him. Neither of them really knew Harry. Not at all. And Tony was the only one who knew Norman and could actually form an opinion about him.

 

But even then, Tony’s opinions on people were questionable.

 

The buildings flew by too quickly. Much too quickly for Peter to feel comfortable in the car knowing they were just inching closer and closer to the sleep clinic. The idea of wires being attached to his skin caused him to shift in his seat, removing his forehead from the glass and sighing deeply. Everything was hurting.

 

He was scared and he couldn’t even say it. Scared of the doctor. Scared of Daredevil.

 

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

He knew he’d be fine. Tony would be there waiting and the doctor wasn’t going to just go crazy all of a sudden. Such things were reserved for Friday nights and horror movies where MJ threw popcorn at the screen every time the blood was too fake and Ned had his face buried in a pillow so far he would almost lose consciousness due to lack of oxygen.

 

Peter felt so scared though.

 

Like a little kid.

 

The car stopped outside of the clinic, framed in blue flowers and the windows were bright and inviting. Happy let Peter out, and stepped aside, saying, “Tony is waiting for you inside.”

 

“O-Okay,” Peter kicked himself for stuttering, but it happened and there was no way to inhale his words back in. Peter went inside, slapped in the face by the cool air that chased away the summer heat. True to Happy’s word, Tony was standing inside, talking to the receptionist, just like when they would go see Doctor Middleton.

 

He looked over when the bell above the door chimed. Excusing himself from the conversation, Tony approached Peter and greeted, “There you are, kiddo. Was worried you’d skip out.”

 

“You sent Happy with me to Prep today,” Peter replied.

 

Tony blinked, “You’re creative. If you really wanted to get away, you could have.”

 

That was true, but Peter still pouted like a child. The two sat down next to each other. Tony shifted, turning towards Peter and the boy silently groaned, wishing they could just sit quietly so he could let his brain go blank and get the closest to sleep he could possibly bring himself. Peter folded his hands together, chewing on his lower lip as Tony asked, “How was Asshat-Junior today?”

 

“ _Harry_ was fine,” Peter breathed, “And he’s not an asshat, Mr. Stark.”

 

“That’s not what I saw at the movies a week ago.”

 

Peter groaned outwardly this time, “Okay, you only got to talk to him for two seconds. And it was a high stress situation-“

 

“No need to defend him, kid. I’ve gotten my impression.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Peter argued, “You’re pretty much like…judging him because of who his dad is. How do you think I feel when people do that to me because of their preconceived notions of you?”

 

Tony’s face blanched. He was quick to recover, Peter would give him that, but the surprise was still evident for a few moments. Tony’s focus left Peter a second, to the wall behind him, as if staring into space and nothingness. He then looked away completely. Peter whispered, “I’ll tell you how it makes me feel: It makes me upset. It hurts. So, if you don’t want me to feel that way, don’t make Harry feel that way.”

 

Still, Tony found a way to make his words sting…

 

“That kid is an Osborn through and through. You’re lucky you don’t share my DNA or else you’d be stuck in a similar boat.”

 

Peter sunk down. His words never could quite bite like Tony’s.

 

They sat together, there, for several minutes. Peter stared at the clock on the wall, unable to find courage to push the conversation. To push anything or to argue his point. It was true that Peter was ignorant to the Osborns and their past, but it just didn’t seem fair. In fact, it seemed hypocritical. But Tony was nefarious for that.

 

 A lot revolved around his opinion of people. Peter just thought…maybe since Tony knew what it felt like to have people tell lies about him, he’d be a little more merciful. A little more understanding. A little more… _something_.

 

But he was unflinching.

 

In opinions. In compassion.

 

Peter rested his chin on his hand and pretended he didn’t notice when Tony stared at the side of his face for a long, long time because he was tired and he just didn’t have the patience anymore. He felt like he had nothing. Nothing to stand on.

 

Only when Doctor Lemoine stepped out to introduce himself did he look away. It was a very brief introduction. Peter spent most of it staring at the ground, ignoring the fact that the doctor was wearing a white coat. Ignoring how his fingers itched at the memory of having his hands around a human being’s throat. Ignoring and ignoring and ignoring.

 

That seemed to be something that consumed life as of late.

 

Avoiding and pretending things were okay.

 

Peter felt small again.

 

Tony and Doctor Lemoine talked for several minutes. Just questions about medical history and such. Things Peter knew about himself, but he didn’t know when Tony had gone through the trouble of learning it. Things that Aunt May knew.

 

But Peter ignored that too, because it was easier that way.

 

Things moved in blurred lines, running together, and Peter was told by the man in the coat-no…Doctor Lemoine, to change into a hospital gown. Because apparently metal and MRIs don’t mix and Peter didn’t know he would be forced into the coffin sized machine, but in a blink of an eye, a nurse was assisting him in lying down and he was being instructed not to move.

 

Tony had disappeared somewhere in that exchange. It would take about twenty minutes to half an hour and Peter could feel the anxiety welling deep in his stomach as he laid flat and felt himself being brought inside.

 

The noises weren’t scary. Sleep didn’t come, even though Doctor Lemoine had said matter-of-factly, “A lot of patients fall asleep. That’s perfectly fine.”

 

Peter wanted to laugh because when a patient comes in with insomnia, wouldn’t one assume they couldn’t sleep?

 

His heart rate sped up. Faster and faster and Peter shut his eyes.

 

He pretended he was in a water slide.

 

Each minute felt like an eternity. Until freedom arrived and he pretended that when he saw Doctor Lemoine again, he wasn’t scared. He smiled. Wrung his hands together anxiously. Averted his eyes and whispered quiet responses, because that was coping, he supposed. That was existing in this world.

 

The MRI came back clear. Peter wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed they still had no leads.

 

He rushed getting dressed, trying to forget the way he felt. Feeling like he was alone in a coffin six feet under. Trying to pretend his shoulders weren’t shaking, because they were, frantically, his fingers stiff with anxiety. Peter said nothing. Just stared at the wall while Doctor Lemoine told them that they’d need to come back for the sleep study that night. That they’d proceed because the scans were clear.

 

Peter breathed. He didn’t want to have to come back. Not when he had just escaped.

 

The car ride was painfully silent. Tony drove, which was still weird. Peter practically turned to face his body away and stare out the window. Not that he was upset with the man. Not about Harry anymore. His nerves were just getting to him. They were shot. He was shot. Weak and tired and he really didn’t want to go back for the sleep study.

 

_They won’t find anything. They’ll never figure it out. I’m screwed up, like this, forever._

Things didn’t just work out for Peter. Nothing did. The world couldn’t even let him keep his aunt. The last person he had. Why would the world let him keep his sanity? It seemed it had been chasing him all along. Biting at his ankles. Waiting to eat him alive.

 

Peter really was drowning again.

 

Like a relapse, back into that place where Tony had found him slamming his head against the closet wall, hating his last name. Hating his existence.

 

“It’s good, Peter,” Tony broke the silence and it made Peter jump, “It’s good that it was clear.”

 

Peter looked at him and blinked. Tony didn’t take his eyes off the road, moving on, “I can practically hear the inner-self-deprecation from here. It’s _good_ that the scan was _clear_.”

 

The boy bit his tongue, tasting blood, before he let up and whispered, “But that just means I’m crazy, right?”

 

“No,” Tony did look at him this time and Peter’s head turned to check traffic, because a car accident would just be the cherry on top of his horrific life, “You’re not crazy. I know crazy, you’re not it.”

 

He chewed his fingernails. Again. What was left of them anyway. The air was being sucked out of the car and Peter spoke, “It’s like the quiet. I-I can’t see it. But it’s making me stay awake.”

 

The confusion sunk deeper and Peter shook his head, “Why can’t I see it?”

 

“We can’t always see those things, kid. If we could I would have burned them up a long time ago.”

 

Peter didn’t like things he couldn’t see. Souls and monsters and ghosts.

 

His old life flurried around like a ghost. The life where he didn’t come home at the end of the day and find his bed made and his clothes perfectly folded and put away by someone he barely knew. The life where he had to do the dishes. The life where the subway or walking were his only options unless he scrounged up a few bucks for the luxury of a taxi. The life where dinners were burned to a crisp and he’d grin through the disgust just to make Aunt May’s smile broader.

 

Peter had existed in such a small world. And this one was so much stranger.

 

“It feels like shit,” Peter slouched.

 

“I should scold you for saying that, _probably_ , but I refuse to quote Steve Rogers.”

 

Peter didn’t get the joke, but even if he had, he doubted he would have laughed. Tony reached over at the stop light, smoothing Peter’s hair down. Peter shut his eyes, pretended it didn’t hurt his soul how much he wanted to feel okay. For the pat on the head to be out of something good, not out of pity.

 

Tears welled. Peter blinked them back.

 

He wanted to go to sleep.

 

A hand went under his chin, squeezed, then Tony pulled away and the light turned green and Peter fought the urge to scream out the window for mercy. For help. For rescue. Did he miss sleep or May? He couldn’t be sure.

 

The lines were too close.

 

One was red and one was blue but then they turned purple and Peter was nauseous at the white pain.

 

Peter held onto the fact that Tony was sitting next to him. That he wasn’t drifting into space, even though it felt like he was. It felt like his muscles and ligaments were letting go. Like he was going deeper into a fit of destruction and he had to stay there because Tony didn’t understand enough to pull him out and Peter couldn’t ask for help because he didn’t know how to convey it into words.

 

How were words supposed to voice a never-ending ache of exhaustion?

 

They couldn’t, nothing could properly frame it.

 

And Peter wasn’t about to half-ass the description of his pain.

 

…

 

“There’ll be a lot of wires. You may find them irritating, but they’re vital to the study.”

 

Doctor Lemoine’s voice was laced thick with a tone reserved for small children, and Peter didn’t like it. The fifteen-year-old nodded silently. He and Tony had wasted the rest of the day at a restaurant with food that was too expensive. With a name Peter couldn’t pronounce.

 

The sticky wires made his skin crawl across his chest and the sides of his head. He squirmed silently, glancing at the glass window. Tony was behind it, even though it was one way and Peter couldn’t see him. That was where Tony had been left when Doctor Lemoine had brought Peter into the room where he’d be spending the night.

 

“If at any point you need us to stop the study, don’t hesitate to press the urgent button.”

 

“Yes sir,” Peter muttered, the last of the wires attached and he relaxed as much as he could back into the pillow. He had thought about bringing his own pillow, but it didn’t smell like his old apartment anymore, so really, it brought very little comfort.

 

He was envious of the family that had moved in.

 

Doctor Lemoine shut out the lights and Peter was enveloped into a darkness only broken by tiny lights coming from the machine beside him.

 

_“I promise, I’ll be in the office the whole time. Right down the hall with Doctor Lemoine.”_

Tony’s voice rang, and Peter tried to shut down all thoughts of the outside world. Tried to drift into something endless, but instead he was left in the confusion of whether or not he was actually asleep. But then he’d see the tiny lights and realize, no, no, unfortunately sleep would not come so simply. Freely.

 

But it must have happened. Because to dream, one had to be asleep, and Peter had dreamed.

 

He found himself back in that place. The Raft. The tiny cell, staring at the ceiling while every muscle in his body ached. The pain was memorized. Jarred into his mind like riding a bike. Muscle memory. He knew it was the ceiling. Bright white. Blinding.

 

The vividness was down to his fingernails digging into the floor. The hurt was there.

 

So were the sounds of choking.

 

That wasn’t what he thought at first. The gargling and gagging sounded more like pipes being clogged than someone with hands around their throat. But when he realized he had heard it before, his mind clicked with the face of a doctor below his hands. Peter’s body flew up, the world blurring because dreams were never truly clear.

 

The cell door was wide open, and in the doorway were two figures.

 

One was a man in a white coat, his face blurred and purple.

 

The other was a man with horns.

 

Daredevil.

 

Peter’s heart went into his throat. He knew it was a dream. Knew it wasn’t real. It was too disfigured to be that. But when the devil’s face whipped in his direction, the terror in his bones was most definitely not a figment. It was stomach churning.

 

The devil released the man in the coat’s neck, fully facing where Peter was on the floor. It felt almost like a staring competition with something menacing. An impossible feat that he was expected to complete on his own.

 

The mask melted.

 

His skin turned to ash, replaced by leathery flesh.

 

Wings sprouted, and Peter felt like he was alone on that rooftop again with the pterodactyl lizard creature that had dug its claws into him.

 

Peter opened his mouth to scream, jumped to run, but suddenly he was no longer faced with the Daredevil turned pterodactyl, but he was instead ripping wires off of himself, running to a door and throwing it open.

 

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

 

It was a flurry of confusion. Of shouts for his name as he ran down the hallway, wearing nothing but pajamas. Running out into the street and he couldn’t make sense of it in his own mind. Where he was going, but his brain, distorted and broken, was bringing him somewhere he did not know. Somewhere he hadn’t realized he needed to be.

 

If it had been cold, it would have been a replica of the night Aunt May died. When he had run to the hospital, barefoot, terrified.

 

But the summer didn’t allow for that feeling. All Peter felt was confusion.

 

The run was long and if it hadn’t been for his enhanced abilities, he probably would have collapsed mid-sprint. But he found his bare feet sliding on the damp concrete down the familiar alleyway, repeating over and over in his head…

 

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

His chest heaved up and down and he forced himself to walk the steps. Retrace back to that place he had woken in with his skin being stitches together by a stranger and a man with horns peering down at him. The bag over his head that he was still sure was a pillow case. The room that was too homey to be anything else.

 

The dream replayed in his mind. Made him shiver. There was no logic. He wanted to sleep. He swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat when he was met with the cool airconditioned apartment building. Stairs. A giant door. And Peter was not where he was supposed to be. He was going to die here.

 

Strangled like the doctor in his nightmare.

 

His bare feet scraped on the floor. The door was locked. Not a surprise. Peter made his way to the roof though. There had been stairs leading to it? Maybe? His memory had fuzzed over, but the half opened window proved his theory correct and he slipped through as silently as possible and down the few steps.

 

It all looked the same. Shrouded in the night. In darkness.

 

He was not supposed to be there.

 

Peter’s feet carried him towards the bedroom. Empty. The bed was perfectly made.

 

No one had slept yet, despite it being the middle of the night. But if this was in fact where the devil lived, it would make sense.

 

Devils only came out at night.

 

Peter stood over the bed several seconds, trying to gather the bearings he had lost back at the sleep clinic. Why had he run? Why had his skin and sleep deprived self felt like it was being torn apart? Tony was probably freaking out. Was probably angry as hell. There was sticky fluid where the wires still clung under his night shirt and close to his scalp.

 

He really was crazy, right?

 

He had lost his mind. Tony would surely send him away, or drug him so deeply he would never see the light of day again. Maybe lack of sleep turned people into sprinting-zombies that went looking for their nightmares.

 

Peter ran his hands through his hair.

 

Then he shouted in surprise when he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and yanked down onto the ground, surrounded by the dimness of the barely lit apartment. Peter gasped when his back hit the floor forcefully, someone shoving an arm into his neck and effectively cutting off air supply. Peter swung outward, making contact with the person above him and eliciting a pained grunt.

 

Peter rolled to the side into crouch, the light from the bedroom window allowing some sort of visibility on the side of the figure’s face.

 

The boy’s heart stopped.

 

Blood turned to ice.

 

His fingernails dug into the floor beneath him and both individuals were sunk low to it, just staring at one another. From what he could see of the man’s expression, he didn’t look surprised to see Peter. In fact he looked more annoyed and pissed off than anything else. Which contrasted so much from what Peter was feeling.

 

Did these things happen only to Peter?

 

He finally managed to croak out, his voice sounding too small to be fifteen…

 

“M-Mr…Mr. Murdock?”

 

_Eight hundred and one steps. Four lefts. Two rights. Stop._

 

_I’m an idiot. Oh God, what did I do?_

 

“What the _hell_ are you doing here, kid?”


	8. The Lark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter ran a hand through his hair, fighting back distress. He continued, “I had a nightmare, about you. The Devil…B-But you’re the Devil and I didn’t even…”
> 
> Frustration seeped in.
> 
> “Dude, you’re Catholic, what the hell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for the patient wait. This week was the last week that I had campers for my summer job, so I'll only be working Saturdays from now on. My math final is Monday and then I should have plenty of time to update. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Love you all so much!!! Let me know what you think. <3

Tony was starting to think Peter was trying to kill him.

 

Only a kid _trying_ to give him a heart attack would run out of a sleep clinic full speed down the hallway. Half-awake. In pajamas. Disappearing into the night. And then Doctor Lemoine just had to go and call the police. Despite Tony insisting he could find the kid himself, he just needed to get his suit.

 

But Doctor Lemoine called the cops anyway.

 

Tony was greying.

 

He stood outside the clinic, trapped by the police, unable to go anywhere because they wanted to question him about every little detail, then turn around and say there wasn’t much they could do besides put out an alert. Tony had wanted to laugh, bitterly. Had realized Peter’s phone was left in the room. Had just noticed everything was going to hell in a handbasket, really.

 

Pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair, he hung up the phone with yet another one of Peter’s friends, asking if they had seen him. Ordering FRIDAY to alert him if Peter stepped foot in the penthouse. Digging through every security camera in the nearby radius.

 

Peter was trying to kill him.

 

He sent out five different suits. Each scanning the city, using facial recognition. Tony hadn’t called Pepper yet. Hell no. Not unless it got really bad. She’d fly back. No doubt about it.

 

“We put out an APB,” A voice from behind him stated, “If he’s running down the streets in his pajamas, we should find him in no time.”

 

Tony whirled, more annoyed than surprised to see the same officer who had been interrogating Peter the night that the kid had witnessed Daredevil beating two men in an alleyway. He rolled his eyes. Mahoney was it? His gaze shot to the man’s tag on his chest…Yes. Mahoney.

 

Shaking his head, Tony scoffed, “You don’t know this kid.”

 

“Did the doc give him something to make him…confused?”

 

A silence passed, then Tony sighed, “No…He’s having an issue with insomnia and I don’t know how long it’s been since he slept. I’m sure it’s…”

 

_Connected. Linked. God, I’m an idiot. Should’ve just made Rhodey sedate him._

Mahoney gave a reassuring nod. One that said he understood, and his eyes held genuine softness, making Tony feel only a little guilty for the disdain he held towards the man for interrogating Peter. Tony looked away as Mahoney reassured, “We’ll find him. This may surprise you, but this isn’t the strangest thing we’ve come across.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Tony tilted his head up, “I mean, you deal with that devil-guy on a regular basis. Along with myself and my crazy-ass-former-friends. Peter doesn’t even make the list of ‘weird’, despite what he thinks of himself.”

 

_He’s so much like me. Self-hatred is a disease. Self-taught._

Maybe taught by fathers. Had Tony taught Peter that the moment he had signed those papers?

 

He was starting to think the last name Stark held a curse. Tony wasn’t sure if Howard practiced self-blame. It seemed like when Tony knew him, he pointed his fingers at others rather than at himself. A lot didn’t make sense about Howard though. And Tony had never stopped to ask what he was feeling inside.

 

Moving away, ending the conversation abruptly, Tony looked down at his watch, checking for any updates from his suit. Nothing appeared on the screen and Tony dropped his arm, letting out a defeated groan.

 

This kid. This kid was in fact trying to kill him.

 

…

 

_This is so bad._

_This is so, so, so, so bad._

_I’m dead. He’s going to kill me._

Peter slouched forward, in on himself where he sat at the small table between the kitchen and living room. It was barely lit, just enough for Peter to be swallowed by the shadows climbing the walls. Chewing anxiously on his fingernails, Peter considered the man across the room from him a long time, standing behind the counter.

 

He was staring straight ahead, a blank expression on his face.

 

Peter’s pulse struggled to keep him alive.

 

Making his way around the counter, Murdock moved further towards him and Peter stiffened in his seat. Really, their exchange had been one-word orders on Murdock’s part and Peter did as he was told. Sure, he was afraid. But another part of him…told him that Murdock wasn’t going to really hurt him.

 

If that had been his intention he would have done more than knock Peter off the fire escape.

 

Especially not rescue him from the bay.

 

Clearing his throat, Peter asked weakly…

 

“How do you do it?”

 

Murdock stopped his movements. Something sharp pulled his lip downward, crooked, a slight frown. His eyes still remained ahead, blank. But his brows were angry. Frustrated. Just overall done with a fifteen-year-old breaking into his apartment and basically exposing his identity. Then Peter had pretty much gone and asked ‘dude you’re blind, how are you doing this?’

 

_I’m an asshole._

“Heightened senses,” Murdock responded bluntly, “Something I’m guessing you understand.”

 

Murdock tapped his index finger on his earlobe, before he grabbed the chair close to Peter. He dragged it forward, stopping directly in front of the teen before sitting down, so close their knees were almost touching. Murdock was taller, still looming over him, even from his sitting position and Peter felt his shoulders sag a bit in response.

 

Even though Murdock couldn’t see him, Peter hoped that he’d feel some sort of pity.

 

“I can hear that you’re terrified right now,” Murdock explained, poking Peter on the chest harshly.

 

The man paused, “And I also know that you can hear things that are too far away for any _normal_ human to hear. Considering how you heard that woman screaming the other night.”

 

Peter gulped, the lump in his throat almost too much to even breathe past. Looking down at the floor, Peter wrung his hands together. How could he hear that he was terrified? Good senses, but even then, Peter had to focus really hard to hear heartbeats. Like at night in the silence when he’d listen to Tony’s and Pepper’s to reassure himself that everything was alright.

 

That they were safe. He was alive. Not dreaming.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

That was a good question. Peter wasn’t precisely sure why he was there. He had memorized the steps. Gone over them in his head, but he hadn’t been entirely sure what he was planning on doing with that information.

 

It had been collected and stored away for later.

 

Apparently later was the sleep clinic.

 

He was beyond frustrated with himself though. For letting the nightmare and the insomnia win. Yes, it was insomnia now. It had a name. It had always had a name. A name that dug deep into his spine like a blade, existing and terrifying him. Threatening to take everything away, through Tony. Because Tony’s worry took things. Hid them. Locked them away with everything else.

 

Peter’s fingers found his throat and Murdock’s voice ordered, “Stop getting worked up and just answer the question.”

 

“I’m trying,” Peter snapped. He was so sick and tired of people telling him not to freak out. He couldn’t help it. Air never entered his lungs when he wanted. Sleep never entered his mind when he begged. It was like living in someone else’s skin.

 

“Breathe.”

 

Peter gulped in air greedily.

 

He hated this. He hated being there. He had made a mistake.

 

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

In his mind he threw fists towards the Quiet that was inching like a hurricane on the horizon.

 

A perfect storm.

 

“You knew me,” Peter pushed the words out before panic could take hold, “A-And I was afraid…I was gonna come here and beg you not to tell anyone…I-I think, but…”

 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, fighting back distress. He continued, “I had a nightmare, about you. The Devil…B-But _you’re_ the Devil and I didn’t even…”

 

Frustration seeped in.

 

“Dude, you’re Catholic, what the _hell_?”

 

“And _you’re_ fifteen,” Murdock spun on him so fast, Peter’s head rushed, his voice holding the same venom that Tony’s did when anger ran too deep, “Why would you come here without your suit, not knowing who I was? What if I had hurt you?”

 

Peter bit his lip. Good question.

 

Making himself smaller, Peter whispered, “W-Well, I thought that if you were going to do that you would have already.”

 

Murdock stood, causing Peter to flinch as the chair screeched against the floor. Murdock moved away, scoffing as he shook his head back and forth. His hands were clenched at his sides and Peter wondered if one of those fists would make contact with his face. If he had been wrong.

 

“That’s a childish answer, that’s why you shouldn’t be doing any of this,” Murdock’s tone was bitter, a laugh, but false, “Does Stark know where you are?”

 

Peter shifted. This was different. He had grown accustomed to Tony’s scoldings, but there was something painfully different when it was someone he barely knew, chewing him out like he was nothing. Shaking his head, Peter replied, “Considering I ran out of a sleep clinic full speed without my cellphone…No…”

 

He paused, then hummed, “Unless he put a tracker in me. Which, after the past few months of me being the worst kid in the world, I’m surprised he hasn’t yet.”

 

Murdock sighed deeply, turning away from him. Peter bit down on his lip, pretending that he didn’t care what Murdock thought of his stupid decisions. Pretending it didn’t matter, even though it hurt his feelings in just the slightest.

 

“I can’t believe this,” Murdock mumbled, “After everything…”

 

“Everything?” Peter said, “You mean the human trafficking thing? Listen, I’m stressed about that too. Maybe…maybe we can compare notes, you know? Black Widow really wants your help-“

 

“I’m not asking an assassin turned Avenger for help. Besides, the only theory I had was that it was connected to a human trafficking ring that I stopped a while back, but it doesn’t seem to be connected. I wouldn’t be of any use to her.”

 

Peter blinked, “Oh…Those people that were working for that Wilson Fisk guy? I saw that on news…How they thought you were a terrorist and everything…”

 

He paused before he went on, “So you don’t think they’re connected?”

 

“I don’t,” Murdock responded gruffly.

 

“Maybe…Maybe I…” Peter started, almost like a shy little kid, “Maybe I can help you?”

 

Murdock’s response came back sharp and cold. Like glass and Peter wondered what he had done so wrong to make Mr. Murdock hate him. Their conversation on the bench outside of the church had been…nice…But this was an entirely different man in front of him.

 

Cruel. Blunt.

 

“I don’t need help,” Murdock snapped, “Not from you and not from your little friend.”

 

Peter’s jaw set, hard, “She’s freaking Black Widow. She could beat the shit out of you.”

 

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

Murdock moved forward suddenly, his shadow falling over Peter as he reached out and gripped the boy’s face harshly. Peter cringed, staring up into the eyes that weren’t really seeing him, but were staring into him nonetheless, as if they could see everything and yet nothing at all. Peter took in a shaky breath, only attempting to pull his face away once, but when the grip tightened, he didn’t try again.

 

“Listen to me.”

 

Peter’s eyes snatched upward.

 

“Are you listening?”

 

Peter’s teeth hurt from biting down and grinding them so hard…

 

“Yes…”

 

_Stop treating me like a child. I’m not a child._

Petulant.

 

“You stay out of this. I don’t know what you do…Jumping around in that suit. What Stark _lets_ you do. But you’re not getting involved in this. And you’re not going to tell anyone who I am. Especially not Stark.”

 

The order was final. As if he just expected Peter to listen. Something angry burned in Peter, because he already had an adoptive father who told him what to do, he didn’t need some crazy Devil guy to be the psycho uncle.

 

Peter spoke vehemently, “We can help. Mr. Murdock…We can help you stop these people.”

 

Murdock growled, “You’re a child. Practically an infant. Stay. Out. Of. It.”

 

Peter watched incredulously as Murdock pointed backwards towards the door and ordered, “Now get out.”

 

Jumping to his feet, Peter argued, “You know I could have told them a week ago where you were. But I didn’t. Because you hadn’t told anyone who I was. I didn’t have to do that for you. When people do nice things, typically you do nice things back.”

 

There was a brief silence. Murdock’s head was lowered, his back turned. It was stupid. All of it. Stupid and unfair and nothing was making sense. When would people see Peter’s potential? His ability to help? Sure he screwed up, but did he really screw up that much?

 

Okay…True.

 

But it wasn’t fair to be ignored.

 

Looked at like a child every day.

 

He was fifteen for Christ’s sake. He had lost everything and then gained so much. Life had grabbed him by the throat and strangled hope out of his eyes, then filled him back up with an unnatural yet pained optimism. Because things could always be worse. He knew worse.

 

Peter just wanted to be heard.

 

To be looked at.

 

Trusted.

 

“Trust me, kid,” Murdock muttered, “I am doing a nice thing. Go.”

 

That was how Peter was forced from Daredevil’s…No, Mr. Murdock, New York City lawyer’s apartment. Seemingly trusted with the burden of knowing his face. His name. Identity. But not trusted to help, because that made sense, right?

 

Bullshit.

 

The rain pelted his face the moment he stepped into the night. Cold, like metal, mixing with the summer air and steaming into the sky. Peter felt disgusting, his pajamas sticking to him and feet grimy from the New York streets. Nothing was worse. The walk was long and Peter felt anxiety spiking. Tony was going to ask so many questions.

 

But Murdock…God, he didn’t think he could reveal his identity, even if Murdock had thrown him out.

 

Peter wondered everyday why he had been cursed with such conviction. Why couldn’t he just not care, like so many other people? He wished he didn’t. He wished his stomach didn’t twist into knots with worry about letting Tony down or betraying Murdock’s identity, even though he didn’t owe Murdock anything. He barely knew him. He had pushed him off a fire escape.

 

Had kicked him out into the rain.

 

A lot had been going wrong for a while.

 

Peter’s eyelids were heavy and his steps were even heavier. He spent the time thinking of his parents’ faces. Attempting not to imagine pictures of them but trying to recall actual memories. There were very few. Maybe the one of his mother making him a peanut butter sandwich. That was a strange, random, but vivid memory and he didn’t know why it was there.

 

That was what filled the worried spaces in his brain.

 

Tony was going to yell. He couldn’t remember his mother and father’s faces. Sleep was far away. Mr. Murdock was freaking Daredevil and Peter couldn’t say anything because his morals were stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

Peter was suffocating in the rain.

 

He saw the lights before he even made it back to the clinic. Dread climbed up his throat when he realized they were police lights blinking. Probably for him. Probably looking for him. Searching. Waiting. Peter paused, thinking he should turn and run the other way. Go back to the penthouse. Hide there until Tony came looking.

 

But, no. No, these people were looking for him and he didn’t want to cause more trouble than he already had.

 

Those morals again.

 

Were sociopathic tendencies too much to wish for?

 

That was probably wrong.

 

His nails dug into his palms as he got closer, the rain still falling and soaking him to the bone. His hair was plastered to his forehead and the first person to turn and look at him was a police officer. Peter chewed the inside of his mouth as he was approached, realizing he remembered this man from the night that he was interviewed about Daredevil.

 

What other familiar person would crawl from the depths of his memory?

 

The officer, Officer Mahoney, wrapped and arm around Peter and hurriedly escorted him into the clinic. People were moving in blurs and Peter could only vaguely see through the heavy haze in his eyes. His lashes were soaked, hair dripping, and the floor was pooling below him. Mahoney released him and something warm was being wrapped around his arms as he was forced to sit in one of the chairs. The lights were dim, and Peter stared down at the floor, refusing to speak.

 

He shivered, feeling as a new set of hands found his shoulders and suddenly Tony was kneeling down in front of him.

 

“Peter?”

 

His voice was worried. Deeply so. The guilt intensified as Peter stared at Tony nervously, almost afraid to make eye contact. He tilted his head further down, but Tony followed him, hands gripping Peter’s arms tightly and tugging.

 

“Peter, are you alright? Shit, kid, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

 

The back of Tony’s hand felt his cheek, maybe checking his temperature, but Peter wasn’t sick. Not from a virus anyway. Even though whatever was keeping him awake sure felt like a virus. Climbing with the Quiet, trying to get to him, but he continued to push it back.

 

The Quiet and sleep would arrive together. That realization hit suddenly.

 

Peter’s toes curled and he kept turning his head back and forth so he wouldn’t have to look at Tony because the guilt would make the tears flow and Peter wasn’t about to cry in front of these police officers and Doctor Lemoine who he hadn’t even noticed.

 

Tony questioned softly, “Where did you go?”

 

A light was shone into his eyes by Doctor Lemoine.

 

Peter answered weakly, “I…ran.”

 

…

 

They left with sleeping pills and a change of clothes.

 

Peter had been given scrubs for the car ride home. The official sleep study was rescheduled to a later date, but for the meantime, the pills were meant to compensate. Peter wondered if they’d actually work, or if his metabolism would overrun them as soon as they entered his system. Either way it didn’t matter. Sleep was gone. And Quiet. Screw the Quiet.

 

When they entered the penthouse, Peter had fully convinced himself he was going to retreat to his bedroom as soon as possible. He would have gotten away with it too, if Tony hadn’t been so quick to step into his path and stop him.

 

It was almost frightening sometimes how Tony just knew what Peter was thinking.

 

A simple hand on his shoulder guided him to sit on a stool at the counter between the kitchen and the living area. Peter stared at Tony, desperate for an escape. Some kind of mercy because it had been a long night and he still needed to go to Prep in the morning. Tony wouldn’t make him of course, but Peter was going to go. He had told Harry he’d be there. Not to mention the fact he had to get away from the issues.

 

“I’m going to ask this once. And you’re going to be honest with me.”

 

It depended really. On the question. But Peter nodded mutely because that was easier than arguing.

 

“Where did you go?”

 

Out of everything he could have asked, it had to be that. Right down to the point. A bitter taste filled Peter’s mouth, bile and fear rising. He didn’t want to talk about it. Because it had been down right wrong and awkward and he shouldn’t have gone to face his fear. He shouldn’t have even confronted Daredevil, but Peter was convinced that without sleep he was just floating around, being a complete idiot.

 

Peter’s mouth opened, but nothing escaped. Instead, his eyes kept bouncing from Tony to the ceiling to the floor and back again. Air froze in his lungs. Nothing would enter. No oxygen to his stupid brain. Grasping at straws, Peter managed to croak, “Nowhere.”

 

“Bullshit,” Tony huffed. He was biting his tongue, but the events from several months back when that bullet had found Peter’s thigh would never be repeated. At least Peter hoped. He remembered Doctor Middleton’s teachings in his head and he hoped Tony was doing the same. Tony continued, “You’re a very bad liar.”

 

Shrinking, Peter replied, “It doesn’t matter. Nothing came of it.”

 

“Nothing…” Tony breathed in disbelief, “You _are_ joking, right? Nothing came of it? Doctor Lemoine calling the police and having them comb the city for you is _nothing_? Me not being able to go anywhere to help look for you is _nothing_?”

 

Peter’s response cracked, “That’s not what I meant! I-I just…I meant that…”

 

A pause, then, “The thing…I went to do…Nothing came of that…I guess…”

 

“Where did you _go_?” Tony repeated.

 

Peter stared. And stared. And stared. Hoping that in his delayed answer, Tony would drop it. But Tony looked back at him with a hard expression that Peter would never be able to imitate, no matter how often he practiced. He would never be Tony.

 

Peter carded his hands through his hair.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

“I…” Peter sighed, “I went to find Daredevil.”

 

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. Peter didn’t know what Tony was expecting, but that must not have been it. Tilting his head, the man questioned, “You went to find Daredevil? Where? How?”

 

“I memorized the steps,” Peter replied, “From the apartment to the alleyway where you picked me up…I-I memorized them.”

 

Something flashed behind Tony’s eyes. Something like a memory or recognition, but it disappeared with a glare. Maybe betrayal was there, but if it was, Peter pretended not to see it, because that was the last thing he wanted right now in the penthouse where the world was turning to dust and all of their progress was going up into the flames of yet another fight.

 

_No. Not another fight._

“Where is he?”

 

Peter was slightly surprised. No: ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me you knew’? Again, straight to the point. A point of no return. Peter rubbed his eyes, like a tired child, unable to keep them open and Peter shut them tightly, chewing the inside of his mouth.

 

Peter shook his head, “I can’t tell you.”

 

It sounded more confident than he had expected, but maybe it was because he had his eyes shut. Because when he opened them again, Tony looked…appalled. Turning his ear towards Peter, the man responded, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right…”

 

“You did,” Peter croaked, “I can’t tell you. He hasn’t told anyone my identity and it wouldn’t…be right for me to, you know, tell you his.”

 

Tony let out a sound of utter amazement, “You’re joking, right? You can’t be _this_ naïve. You don’t want to tell me who he is because you think the two of you won’t be _even_ anymore? Like some kind of playground game?”

 

“No!” Peter protested, “You’re not listening, Mr. Stark! You promised we’d work on hearing each other!”

 

“Well you’re obviously not hearing me,” Tony replied, tone going flat as he clearly fought the urge to shout, “This guy could have killed you. And he still could if he decides to change his mind.”

 

Peter nearly whined, “He won’t. I promise. You have to trust me.”

 

Tony leaned forward, putting his hand on the counter and bending to Peter’s eye level, “You think this guy is your friend just because he didn’t reveal your identity? Does that make Toomes your friend now too?”

 

“That’s so different,” Peter whispered, “That’s not fair.”

 

“Not fair,” Tony was almost too quiet for Peter to hear. He wasn’t yelling, but the words were still stinging as he went on, “Exactly why you shouldn’t be trusted with this decision. You still think things are _fair_.”

 

Peter stood suddenly, causing Tony jump back. He moved to walk around the man, but Tony was quickly to grab his arm and pull him back. Peter whirled, looking up at Tony as the man explained, “You’re not sleeping. That’s something we can fix, but this… _this_ is not something I’m going to let go, Peter. You’re going to get hurt, keeping secrets like this.”

 

Tugging on his arm harshly, Peter breathed, “We are way past getting hurt.”

 

Tony released him suddenly, as if he had been burned. Confusion melted into Tony’s features. Like he didn’t fully understand. Peter backed away and insisted, “Why can’t you just trust that this guy isn’t bad? He’s trying to help these people getting sucked into trafficking. He’s figuring it out. Just like me. You don’t need to know his name.”

 

Backing away, Peter turned and retreated, shutting his bedroom door quietly, because slamming was for children and Peter didn’t need to give people more of an incentive to see him as such.

 

Peter’s hearing spiked. He could hear the clanking of the scotch glass being pulled out.

 

He stuck the sound diffusors in his ears and welcomed the darkness of his closet, waiting for the common threat of a sensory overload to pass.


	9. The Soul, The Soul, Oh it Aches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m alright, Peter.”
> 
> “You’re not,” Peter’s voice cracked, “Y-You’re…what if you die?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves! Got an update for you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter <3 let me know what you think! Thank you all so much for the lovely feedback (I say this every time, but I don't think I can ever say it enough!)

He wasn’t expecting her.

 

But he also wasn’t surprised when she showed up.

 

Tony’s shoulders were slumped, hand gripping the glass of scotch tightly. The warm summer night brought wind on the terrace and he heard the door slide open behind him. Glancing back, there was Natasha, shadow looming across the ground. Tony sighed deeply, returning his gaze to the city below. It wasn’t what he needed. Not in the slightest.

 

“You didn’t pick the best night.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Nat asked, shutting the door behind herself, “Is there ever a ‘best’ night?”

 

Tony chuckled at that, but the undertone was relatively bitter, “Not in this house.”

 

That was lie. There were great nights. Things had been getting better. But that damned devil-guy just had to come along and make their lives difficult all over again and Peter was just a saint and couldn’t seem to give up the name of the guy who had pushed him off a fire escape and basically dragged him to his own place. Peter just didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how dangerous this guy was.

 

He didn’t understand Tony was on the verge of flipping the hell out..

 

All because the kid would feel guilty since he and the Devil wouldn’t be _even_ anymore.

 

And he had held back. Certainly. He had wanted to scream his head off until Peter told him where Daredevil was. Ground him until he was eighteen. But he had managed to bite his tongue. His words had still been cruel, maybe, but he had tried. And his head hadn’t exploded.

 

Tony would call that a partial success.

 

And even if he had screamed, Peter probably still wouldn’t have told him.

 

It would have done more harm than good.

 

Taking a large gulp of his drink, finishing off the glass, Tony set it on a nearby table, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Natasha moved forward, standing beside him as she put her hands on her hips.

 

She asked, “What happened?”

 

“Peter knows where and who Daredevil is,” Tony said, “And he won’t tattle because apparently there’s some kind of vigilante code that we don’t know about. He thinks that because Daredevil kept his secret, he should keep Daredevil’s.”

 

There was a long pause.

 

Natasha hummed, “Maybe I can get it out of him.”

 

“You’re not interrogating my kid.”

 

“Only a suggestion.”

 

“Shitty one.”

 

Tony then lowered his head, shaking it back and forth. He grumbled under his breath, “I just don’t get it. You know, we were improving? Seeing Doctor Middleton was helping but I’ll be damned if we don’t take one step forward and then two steps back _every_ time…”

 

Nat grimaced, “Did you ever think that maybe this is just a part of having a teenager live with you? Secrets being kept?”

 

“I would,” Tony hissed, “And I’d understand because I kept secrets too. _If_ they weren’t secrets that could get him killed.”

 

He paused, then continued, “I didn’t adopt this kid just to watch him die, Nat. I _want_ to see him grow up. Sometimes…God, sometimes I just want to shake him until he gets it through his head that he’s not invincible and he doesn’t owe the world _anything_. Especially after everything the world has taken from him…”

 

Nat kneeled beside him.

 

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

 

…

 

Peter didn’t touch the pills.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was some kind of residual fear because of what happened last time he was left with a bottle on his bedside table. Or if it was just stubbornness and frustration taking a hold on his teenage ‘rebellion’, but he didn’t touch them. Knowing full and well the only person he was harming was himself, but still, the thought of sleeping was nauseating.

 

_Sleep and quiet. Sleep and quiet. Sleep and quiet._

They would be hand-in-hand and Peter wasn’t sure when he realized that. He was pretty sure it had crossed his mind in the clinic, when they had been trying to dry him from the rain. But his mind was foggy and he stared at the ceiling, no longer praying for sleep, but actively keeping his mind away from it.

 

He vaguely dozed, until the sound of Tony’s bedroom door shutting made him startle. The clock said it was nearly three in the morning. But Tony was nefarious for not going to sleep on time, just as Peter had become nefarious for not sleeping at all. That was something they had in common and maybe that was why Tony was so worried.

 

Tony’s heart beat was _loud_. Peter missed the calm thudding of Pepper’s.

 

But Peter knew it was probably his fault. His fault that Tony’s heart was racing.

 

Peter laid there, waiting for it to calm, and when it finally did, he slipped back into that stage between being asleep and awake, not letting himself fall deeper where the Quiet would be. It was disappointing when his alarm went off to wake him for Prep. Disappointing because he didn’t want to move from that place. Didn’t want to face the day. Didn’t want to do anything.

 

But he showered, dressed, got ready like usual. Pretended his head wasn’t pounding. Pretended that he wasn’t terrified to face Tony.

 

He sucked at pretending.

 

Peter waited down to the last few minutes, when he heard Happy enter, to leave his room. Drawing his arms close, he walked out into the kitchen to see the two men speaking to each other, just like that morning a bagel had been forced at Peter. They weren’t talking about him though, which was a relief.

 

Peter plucked a banana from the counter, beginning to peel it while ignoring the eyes trained on him. He paused, gaze locking with Tony. He looked so tired, and the guilt nipped at Peter’s ankles, threatening his psyche.

 

“Did the pills work?”

 

Peter shoved a piece of banana in his mouth and talked through it, “Yep.”

 

Tony’s brows furrowed, “The dosage was high enough for your metabolism?”

 

“Yep,” Peter repeated, nodding. Few words. Because the more he talked, the more apparent it would be that he was lying. Sputtering. He didn’t want that. Not after the argument the night before. Tony let it go, nodding in agreement, but something in the way his jaw set told Peter that he hadn’t really _let it go_.

 

Happy gestured to the elevator and began to move into the foyer. When Peter went to follow, he was stopped by Tony’s hand wrapping around his wrist firmly. Peter stumbled slightly, turning to face the man who had stood from his chair.

 

“Come straight home today, alright?”

 

Peter chewed his lower lip…

 

“But why?”

 

Tony stared, and Peter blinked several times before agreeing quickly, “Right…right, okay.”

 

“ _Straight_ home, understand?”

 

Peter nodded, willing to do anything to get out of the situation, “Yes sir.”

 

He was then free to go and Peter jumped into the elevator after an awkward Happy. Peter could tell he wanted to ask, but didn’t because Peter’s hands were wringing together nervously and it just wasn’t a good time. It probably would never be a good time. The lights were bright, remnants of the brief sensory overload piercing. He had spent an hour or so with the diffusors in and it had slipped away, but pieces were left behind.

 

When they loaded in the vehicle, Happy turned briefly in his seat to face him. Peter swallowed thickly. He didn’t want this. Not this. Another adult in his life telling him he was making a mistake. He was trying to do what was right. This was what was _right_.

 

Wasn’t it?

 

Daredevil was a lot like Peter. Out there, trying to make a difference. Sure, he was much less PG. He was probably full on adult rated, had to have a parent bring kids to the theater. But still…he was trying. The way Peter was trying. And it would be wrong…So wrong to turn on him. To tell Tony his identity. Because there was no doubt in Peter’s mind that the moment he did that, Tony was going to go looking for him.

 

Peter didn’t want that.

 

He didn’t want anyone going to look for Murdock. Murdock had been _merciful_ to him.

 

Maybe Peter was being naïve, but was that really so wrong?

 

“Pete…” Happy started and Peter shut his eyes, tilting his head down. Yep. Just as he had feared. He wondered if Tony had asked Happy to talk to him. Maybe if he got enough people to press down Peter’s shoulders he would crack? No way. No.

 

There was a brief pause, then, “You know how much Tony cares about you, right?”

 

That was not the question Peter was expecting. His head snapped up, eyes opening-wide and almost betrayed. Were they trying to guilt him? Manipulate him? Or was that a genuine question? Like Peter didn’t know. Like he had no idea. Sure sometimes he felt like a burden, but he knew Tony cared for him…That had been established after Ross had tried to drug him to death…

 

“Yes,” Peter breathed in disbelief, “Yes, I-I do.”

 

“Then you know how much this is hurting him.”

 

This _was_ a guilt trip. Peter’s chest clenched. As if he didn’t feel conflicted enough. Peter leaned back against the seat and looked out the window, no longer able to meet the man’s eyes. Peter shook his head, “I wanna go.”

 

“Not yet,” Happy said, “Look at me.”

 

Peter’s head whipped in his direction again, but instead of looking at him, he stared at the back of the seat. Happy sighed deeply and explained, “He is _not_ trying to make you miserable. He’s trying to help you. You’re already not sleeping and this thing with the asshole-in-the-mask is only going to make things worse for you, both of us can see that. You let secrets eat you alive, kid, you’re not _good_ at them.”

 

The teen swallowed thickly, “ _I’m_ an asshole-in-a-mask, Happy. And Daredevil knows me. But didn’t tell anyone. Why…why are you guys not seeing that it isn’t fair for me to do that to him?”

 

“You are putting yourself at risk and it’s driving Tony crazy.”

 

Happy sounded bitter. Like he was losing patience with the conversation. And the statement felt like a punch to the gut. Peter’s eyes burned and he pressed his palms to them to keep them at bay. Peter ordered, “Let’s just go. I-I’m not gonna talk about this anymore.”

 

He wasn’t expecting Happy to listen to him, but when the car went into motion, that thought was driven away with it. Peter rubbed his face, looking out the window, unable to even glance at the back of Happy’s head. He adjusted his backpack, comforting himself by holding it close to his chest. The Quiet roamed, near his heart and at the base of his head, switching positions so quickly Peter was blinded.

 

Peter was living in a perpetual wormhole of guilt fed by resentment.

 

Sometimes he just…hated himself so much. The Quiet drew close. But Peter shoved it away. It wasn’t right to think so poorly of himself, Doctor Middleton and Tony had made that clear. Ned had too, one day after Flash had been particularly cruel. When Peter had tears shining in his eyes after the encounter.

 

_“You’re always protecting others. Pete…Sometimes, you gotta protect yourself too, ya know?”_

But protecting himself from his own vivid and merciless thoughts…That was something he hadn’t learned to do. It was something that was _hard_. Peter missed Ned. MJ. May. Things from his old life. He’d see Harry, sure, but Harry wasn’t from before. He didn’t carry that badge of honor. Harry was from this new life, the life drained by the Quiet. The new life smothered in money and expectations and Peter sucked so badly at it.

 

He sucked at being a son.

 

Because he was hurting Tony every step of the way, yet he just couldn’t stop.

 

As soon as they pulled to the curb of the convention center, Peter ducked out of the car, ignoring Happy’s voice telling him when he’d be there to pick him up. He slung his bag over his shoulder, trotting up the many steps, unsurprised to see Harry there waiting for him. He must have been able to see the paleness of Peter’s cheeks, because he tilted his head curiously.

 

“Why do you still look sick? I thought you were going to get that taken care of.”

 

Peter chewed on that a few moments. If things were that easy, Aunt May would be alive after her surgery and Tony Stark wouldn’t drink scotch for the pain in his shoulder and the anxiety that pulsed through him. Peter replied, “It…takes time.”

 

“Hm,” Harry huffed, “You still up for the adventure today?”

 

Peter opened his mouth to respond but Harry interrupted, “Rhetorical. The car is coming at lunch to pick us up.”

 

There was something amusing yet irritating about Harry. He was nothing like a business man but everything like one at the same time. Unflinching and arguments were not up to bat. But he was much too…uncaring to be in business. Wishy-washy in his plans. Like he was a mixture of Tony Stark and the stories of Howard Stark.

 

Peter had convinced himself that his adoptive-grandfather would find him to be a disappointment. But he would have tried to befriend him, nonetheless. Because the thought of being like Harry and Norman, even if Howard wasn’t Tony, was nauseating and Peter would have _tried_ to make Howard like him.

 

If Peter had to bet, Norman probably loved Harry. Harry just couldn’t see it. Like Peter had struggled to see why Tony had truly wanted to sign those adoption papers.

 

Maybe Tony hadn’t been a reliable narrator, Peter thought, maybe Tony was like Harry. _Maybe_ …Howard and Peter would have been friends.

 

Thinking about it all made Peter’s head whirl though and he was trying not to electrocute himself and Harry during their lessons, so that wasn’t good. Harry kept taking the projects though, because Peter was methodical in his work, like Tony had taught him, but Harry just wanted to do it.

 

_“Slow down, Pete. If you screw it up the first time, you have to go back and do it again.”_

Peter longed for those days in the lab. Where things had been okay. Where they were seeing Doctor Middleton once every few days. Somewhere along the way though, when the appointments had slowed, communication had clammed up. The Quiet had re-arrived. Peter’s secrets had been dragged with it.

 

“Slow down, Harry,” Peter ordered.

 

Harry chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna blow us up.”

 

“That’s not…” Peter paused, voice coming out soft, “We’re supposed to be learning.”

 

Harry stopped what he was doing, quirking an eyebrow. Harry then set aside the screw driver and hummed, “Well, since you look more like a kicked puppy than usual, fine.”

 

Peter just needed that stability. Of listening to the instructor and doing things by the book. Just for a day or so. The hours ticked by, and Peter did his best to guide Harry, slowly. Convincing the other boy to listen and not jump ahead like it was a competition, even though Harry still seemed to believe it was.

 

_(“Not everything is a race.”_

_“Yes, Petey, everything **is**.”)_

Peter had frowned.

 

When lunch rolled around, instead of taking their reject place in the alley, Harry had led them to the front of the convention center. As promised, there was a car waiting for them, dark and sleek, much like the one Happy drove every day. They climbed in the back and Harry leaned forward, telling the driver, “Oscorp, Simon. Please.”

 

There was a small nod from the man’s head and Harry leaned back with a thud against the leather seat. Peter asked, “Why’re we going to Oscorp?”

 

“I’ve got something to show you,” Harry smirked.

 

“Is…Is your dad okay with us going there?”

 

“My father is okay with anything he doesn’t know about.”

 

Well, that was terrifying. Peter was not looking forward to running the risk of pissing off Norman Osborn, but whatever. Peter leaned back against the seat as well, accepting his fate that today was just going to be filled with anxiety. The drive didn’t take nearly as long as he expected. Or hoped for that matter.

 

As they pulled up to the skyscraper, Peter peered his head out, staring up at the giant building.

 

It wasn’t taller than the Avenger’s Tower but it was pretty close.

 

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed.

 

“You’re drooling, Petey,” Harry commented as the driver opened the door for them. Harry gave Peter a shove and the boy went stumbling out, slinging his backpack down in the process, still not taking his gaze off the scraper.

 

It wasn’t its height though that had Peter in shock. No…It was the memory of it. The memory of his freshman year field trip. The trip that had changed his life forever. The source of the spider. It was chilling, to be back. Like ice on his spine, and sure his shock could be misinterpreted as awe, but it just wasn’t.

 

It was almost horror and relief, because if he had never been bitten, if things had never changed, he would have never become Spider-Man.

 

Oscorp had done it.

 

And for some reason Tony hated them, because he felt the experiments were non-ethical.

 

But…But it was how they had come to be. Their small and broken family. Without Oscorp it wouldn’t exist. Peter would probably still be orphaned. But alone. Somewhere. God knows where.

 

_Alone_.

 

Harry guided him up the stairs and Peter slipped his backpack on. He panicked slightly, when the security wanted to search it, because the suit was freaking at the bottom, but Harry had stopped them with a simple wave of his hand. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, taking in the lobby that was familiar, yet far off, like a dream in an ocean, blurred by salt water.

 

“Cool huh?” Harry questioned, “If there’s something I can give my dad props about, it’s his ability to make things flashy.”

 

Peter smiled awkwardly, “Well, I’ve actually uh…been here before. For a field trip. I got…kicked out.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow and Peter hurriedly explained, “I got separated from my group was all. And security found me wandering around and…yeah. My teacher was _freaked_ out. He thought he had lost me, but they just wouldn’t let me back in the building.”

 

He conveniently left out the room with the spiders.

 

And that fact that he had _touched_ said spiders.

 

Because he had been a stupid fourteen-year-old.

 

Now was different though. Now he was a stupid soon-to-be sixteen-year-old. In little over a month.

 

A cackle escaped the other boy as they began to move up towards the elevators, framed by marble, “Hard to believe Puppy-Peter could ever get thrown out by security.”

 

They stepped into the elevator, and Harry pressed the button for the 20th floor. It whirled to life, and Peter looked at his reflection in the silver doors. Even there, with the distorted image of himself, he could see the dark circles under his eyes. He gripped his backpack a bit tighter on his shoulder, looking away. Maybe he should have taken those pills after all.

 

“So what’s this thing you want to show me?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

They exited the elevator when it slid open and Harry poked his head out into the hallway. It appeared strangely empty, and Harry gestured for Peter to follow, only making the boy’s worry grow even more, because Harry was sneaking around his own father’s building, which could _not_ be a good sign as to why they were there.

 

Peter trotted behind Harry until they stopped in front of a door and Harry pulled a key from his pocket. He opened it, and as it swung out, Peter was aware that they were about to enter a storage closet full of brooms and shelves. Harry dragged him in, bleach filling Peter’s nose as he did so. Harry shut the door, flicking the lights on.

 

Yep. A storage closet.

 

“So…” Peter said, “You brought me to…see brooms and mops?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “C’mon.”

 

Harry moved to the back of the room, grabbing one of the shelves and beginning to drag it away from the wall. He then stood back, gesturing for Peter to move forward. Peter did so, carefully, with purpose in each step as he peered around the darkened spot that was hiding something in the corner, enveloped in a shadow.

 

Peter’s eyes widened. A large, glass box sat there, and within it was a creature he had never seen before. It was probably the size of Peter’s hand, crawling around inside, nibbling at a small food bowl. Peter ran a hand through his hair as he got closer, kneeling down and squinting his eyes to get his brain to connect the dots as to what he was looking at.

 

It appeared to be…a rat…with a reptilian tale and claws.

 

“Harry, what the _hell_ is _that_?” Peter screeched, standing back to full height. He ignored the way his voice cracked like a twelve-year-old.

 

Harry grinned, “ _That_ is Jimmy. I found him here a few days ago. He crawled out one of the vents in my dad’s office.”

 

“Jimmy, you named it Jimmy!?” Peter exclaimed, “Dude, this thing…this thing could have bit you a-and…!“

 

_YOU’D BE FREAKING ‘RAT-LIZARD-MAN’!_

Harry shook his head, moving to the box and beginning to open it, “No, he doesn’t bite. Look, he even lets me hold him and everything-“

 

“Don’t take him out!”

 

Too late, Harry stood, holding the small creature in his hands. Peter grabbed both sides of his head. Teeth grinding together from the stress. Harry held the animal out, that was crawling over and under his hands like the hamster Peter had gotten in the seventh grade, until his neighbor’s cat had ended its short life. Peter had cried for weeks.

 

The entire situation was making his skin crawl. He scratched his neck where the bite had been that long time ago. Harry offered ‘Jimmy’ out to him and ordered, “Look, hold him.”

 

“Ah,” Peter gasped, his hands lowering from his head to hold the animal that was practically shoved into his hold. He cringed, watching as it crawled around and Peter sputtered, “W-why the hell does he look like this?”

 

Harry shook his head, “I dunno. I don’t ask my dad about the weird shit that goes on here. I don’t think even he knows half of what his scientists are up to, if I’m being honest. He just wants progress and when they give him that, he doesn’t care how they got it. I’m sure Jimmy is just the product of that mindset.”

 

Harry continued, “Either way, I’ve been feeding him and stuff. Hiding him here. I don’t want him to have to go back to the lab.”

 

As sweet as that sentiment was, Peter was still terrified of anything that was the product of Oscorp. Slowly, he handed the creature back to Harry who returned it to its container. Harry pulled a few crackers from his pocket, dumping the entire thing to the lizard-rat. Peter watched nauseously as Jimmy devoured it.

 

Checking his phone, Peter cleared his throat, “Lunch break ends in fifteen-minutes. We should probably head back…i-if this is what you wanted me to see.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, genuinely, “That’s all. He’s pretty badass, right?”

 

“If that’s the word you wanna use,” Peter bit back a laugh.

 

Harry returned the shelf to its original place and Peter led them towards the exit. After Harry switched the light back off, Peter grabbed the closet door, pushing it open into the hallway. He flinched when it came into contact with something, and there was a loud thud, followed by a string of curses.

 

Peter poked his head around, surprised to see a man on the ground, surrounded by scattered papers he must have been carrying. Peter jumped around the door and apologized, “I’m so sorry!”

 

Peter kneeled down, beginning to grab several of the scattered documents as he watched the man regain himself. He had thick glasses and a lab coat. He seemed dazed, only a few seconds, before he looked at Peter, then up at Harry who was shutting the closet door behind them, re-locking it.

 

“A-Are you okay?” Peter pressed the papers to his chest, standing and offering a hand. The man reached, and that was when Peter noticed his other hands was missing. Tugging without much effort, the man stood to full height.

 

He straightened his glasses and finally responded, “Yes, quite alright.”

 

His eyes found Harry and he asked, “Harry, are you here with your father? I’ve been needing to speak to him.”

 

“Dad is having a ‘sick’ day,” Harry put his hands in his pockets, “I was just showing my friend around.”

 

Harry then introduced, “Peter, this is Doctor Connors. Doctor Connors, this is Peter.”

 

Peter took the offered hand and shook it briefly, his face still burning due to practically destroying the guy with a freaking door. Peter held out the papers, offering them in a silent plea for forgiveness, when his eyes made brief focus on a black and white picture printed in the top corner of one of the papers…

 

A woman.

 

Sharp nose. Familiar. Familiar, yet far away and _screeching_.

 

A pterodactyl.

 

But this picture. No, this was just an ordinary woman. Smiling. Connors took the paper, and Peter gulped, looking back up in shock. His heart suddenly leaped into his throat and he felt like he couldn’t speak. Connors didn’t seem to notice the sudden distress though as he smiled at Peter kindly, “Wonderful to meet you, Peter.”

 

Peter managed to croak…

 

“Y-you…You too, sir.”

 

He then shook the papers, looking between the two teens, “Well, lots of work to do. You boys keep out of trouble.”

 

Connors stepped around the both of them, moving down the hallway. He stopped at the third room down and Peter took in the numbers typed into the small keypad.

 

_6-7-7-4-2-2_

There was a hiss as it slid open and shut. Harry grabbed Peter’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. Peter’s head whipped in his direction. Nothing was making sense. The world around him was blurring. Harry’s brows were furrowed in confusion and he asked, “You look like you just pissed yourself. Did _you_ get hit with the door?”

 

_Why, why, why was her face there?_

Peter felt the claws dig into his chest again.

 

The explosion rocked his feet.

 

Peter breathed…

 

“Yeah…yeah, maybe I did.”

 

…

 

Peter knew he was supposed to go straight home. He knew Happy would be out there, waiting for him, ready to maybe lecture him some more. And Tony would come home. Probably wanting to talk about everything that had been happening. Confront him about not actually taking the pills. Interrogate him on who Daredevil was.

 

That was why he went out the back door.

 

He had told Harry he was going to use the restroom before the drive back to the penthouse. Left him in the lobby and gone out the back. He slipped into the setting summer sun, climbing a nearby fire escape before hopping across rooftops, his backpack feeling heavier and heavier as he made his way towards Hell’s Kitchen.

 

_You are the absolute worst kid in the world. The worst. Tony is never going to forgive you._

_(“Leave me alone!”_

_“Ben is dead, May, he’s dead!”)_

“Not a good time,” Peter growled at the Quiet. Horizon.

 

The guilt was eating him alive. The hatred for every fiber of his being. But he had to do it. He had to leave. He had to stop these people but that guy…Connors…Had a picture of that woman and she had been smiling. She had been happy once. Not in the body of a beast, slicing teenagers in the chest. Something was so wrong with that. And Peter didn’t have to be a genius to know that it was connected to the trafficking. To the people who had tried to lure Daredevil out that night with the shooting.

 

His only relief, only distraction, was slipping through the same window he had come in the night before.

 

“Mr. Murdock!”

 

Peter shouted, leaning into the apartment. He pulled his leg through, stumbling and nearly falling down the wooden stairs. There was movement below, in the apartment. Then footsteps rushing in the room and sure enough, there he was. Shock etched on his face. Shrouded with an angry turn of his mouth.

 

“Peter, what-“

 

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Peter breathed heavily, getting back to his feet and standing, rushing down until he was in front of Murdock, “I know you told me to stay away, b-but I got…I got something really important!”

 

Murdock was staring, blankly of course, but Peter knew the rage was there. The same rage Tony had felt and these people were smothering Peter. Smothering him. He had to do this. He _needed_  to…It wasn’t right, not by any means. The world was twisting and turning and pulling Peter beneath the same water that had tried to drown him with his parachute.

 

She had been _smiling_.

 

“I told you to stay away.”

 

Peter folded his hands together, though he knew Murdock couldn’t see…

 

“Please, sir… _Please_. Listen to me. They hurt her.”

 

The hardness in Murdock’s expression melted. His crossed arms dropped at his sides. Something about it had grabbed his attention and Peter didn’t care, he was just glad Murdock was listening now. Hearing him, even though he was fifteen-going-on-sixteen.

 

“Who’s hurt?”

 

Peter wanted to thank him a million times, but didn’t. Instead he bit his lip and explained, “That woman…the one that looked like a reptile lady and cut me…I-I saw a picture of her in a file at _Oscorp_ , Mr. Murdock. A man named Doctor Connors was carrying it into his lab and I hit him with a door and it flew-“

 

“Off track,” Murdock snapped and Peter nodded in agreement.

 

“R-Right, sorry…Anyway, I saw her picture and I didn’t get a good look but…There was a rat-lizard creature there. My friend thinks it was probably an experiment and…What if they’re doing that to _humans_? What if that’s where all those missing persons have been going?”

 

Peter felt his own panic rising. Why hadn’t he figured it out sooner?

 

This woman…God there was no telling what had been done to her…The air in his lungs was disappearing, but he kept himself steady because he wasn’t going to panic in front of Murdock. Not someone as freaking badass as him. Murdock turned away, moving to a closet. Peter watched as he opened a large black box, taking out what appeared to be armor.

 

Peter’s eyes widened with hope, “You’re going to help me?”

 

“No,” Murdock said bluntly, “You’re going to stay put.”

 

Peter’s jaw dropped. He moved forward as Murdock began to arrange his armor, “You’re joking! I found this info, I’m going!”

 

“This isn’t a debate,” Murdock snapped, whirling to face the teen, “It’s not even a conversation. I’m not bringing a child with me. You can forget it. Go home.”

 

Peter shouted in return, “Then I’m not telling you what floor it’s on or the code to get into Connors’ lab!”

 

Murdock froze in his movements. Peter regretted the words just as soon as Murdock stepped towards him, but Peter refused to step back. He straightened his shoulders, pulling his backpack off and reaching inside, slipping his own suit out. Murdock growled, “Listen to me-“

 

“No,” Peter interrupted, “I’m sick of being treated like a baby. I’m _going_.”

 

Peter then stepped away.

 

“Now, where’s your bathroom so I can change?”

 

…

 

In retrospect, maybe giving orders to _the_ Daredevil was a bad idea.

 

But it had happened. And it was just something that he was going to have to deal with. Especially the silent, grumpy treatment he was receiving. Then again, it was possible Daredevil just wasn’t a talkative crime fighting partner. Either way, he wouldn’t even acknowledge the fact that Peter was with him, no matter how many times Peter tried to strike up conversation.

 

“You’re a pretty bad ass lawyer,” Peter huffed, out of breath from keeping up with the man during their rooftop sprint towards Oscorp, “I mean, that whole video thing during the Ross Trial. Real awesome. And-“

 

“Kid.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

Peter let out a disappointed sigh, crouching during their brief pause. Daredevil must have been considering the best way into the building, again leading Peter to speculate whether or not Daredevil was _actually_ blind. Peter could probably climb to the 20 th floor, but there was doubt that Daredevil could accomplish that on a glass skyscraper. Heightened senses didn’t give sticky hands. Instead, Peter focused around the seventh floor. It would still be a hard climb on the windows, but the sun had set and drowned the city into darkness. Employees were leaving for the night. Entering one of the lower floors would provide access.

 

They could just take the elevator the rest of the way up, like a couple of normies.

 

“Follow me, I got you! Just listen for my movements!” Peter exclaimed, shooting his web out.

 

“Kid, gah, wait-“ Daredevil tried to snatch him mid-air but missed by a milli-meter.

 

Peter swung, landing against the side of the building and scaling the glass with ease. He peeked through one of the windows, ensuring the office space was empty. It was a lower floor, after all, reserved for the paper-pushers. The upper floors were where the real science went on. Peter asked, “Karen, we got anything to blow through this window without making a huge scene?”

 

“Yes Peter,” She replied, “I would suggest a web-grenade. It will compromise the glass structure, while preventing any unnecessary debris scatter.”

 

“Awesome, let’s go for it so our devil-friend can follow us in.”

 

Peter crawled a little above the window he wished to ‘destroy’ before turning and craning his body to aim his shooters downward at an angle. He shot outward, _web grenade!_ ringing through his memories like a fond, before-the-bad, thought. There was a burst of energy, then the sound of glass crumbling like tissue paper against the webbing.

 

It crumbled, falling forward into the office, dusting over the desk like nothing.

 

Peter slipped in, careful to avoid the shards before turning and shooting a line down, simultaneously giving Daredevil a signal to come up and a line to climb on.

 

The room was dark and once he heard Daredevil enter, Peter turned and grinned under his mask, “Awesome right!? Mr. Stark put all kinds of cool webs in.”

 

“Yes, just as awesome as giving a teenager a suit to endanger his life with.”

 

Peter’s shoulders slumped. There was just no befriending this guy. He was going to fight Peter tooth and nail. Turning quickly, Peter huffed, “Let’s go.”

 

They took the elevator up to the 20th floor, without so much as a word and Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t pouting every step of the way, arms over his chest and lip protruding under his mask. Daredevil shifted, but said nothing, didn’t look at him, but Peter guessed it wasn’t in _habit_ to do so. He still didn’t know how he was so coordinated, yet was blind, even with heightened senses.

 

The two walked out into the hallway, the only light coming from small, LED lights that took the place of the harsher florescent ones. Peter’s eyes scanned each door before stopping on the one with the glowing, blue keypad. He realized for the first time what a secluded floor this was, and knew that was probably why it was the best place for such information.

 

“This the place?” Murdock broke the quiet.

 

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed, approaching the keypad, “Should I enter the code, or is that gonna endanger me too?”

 

Murdock didn’t even flinch. Peter pouted again, desired reaction lost.

 

Right.

 

Peter typed the numbers _6-7-7-4-2-2_ and there was the whooshing of the door sliding open. Peter gave Murdock one last glance before walking inside, ignoring the hand that skimmed his shoulder. The room was a bit brighter than the hallway, but not by much. Glass beakers littered the counter tops of the relatively small lab. Smaller than Tony’s workshop anyway. Peter’s eyes scanned the tables, but nothing really caught his eyes.

 

The smell of sulfur was almost nauseating though. He didn’t know if Murdock could smell better, if their senses were even dialed the same, but Peter wanted to ask if he was going to vomit as well. Peter leaned over one of the counters, several folded scattered across it haphazardly. Like the person who had left it hadn’t cared enough to put it back or had even been frustrated by something.

 

Peter’s gloved fingers slid over the pages, opening one of the folders slowly…

 

She was smiling.

 

He felt Murdock get close behind him, before asking, “What is it?”

 

“I-It’s,” Right…He couldn’t see, “It’s a file. On…the pterodactyl lady…”

 

Peter bit his lip and whispered, “Maria Slocum.”

 

“What does it say?”

 

Peter didn’t want to read it. Because to read about a human being that had been…altered…it was too upsetting. His own transformation had been something insanely freaky, but all in all he didn’t look different on the outside. But this…it was horrible and unfair. Unfair to the woman, Maria, smiling in the photo.

 

“I-It says…” Peter shook his head, “She’s twenty-six. From Brooklyn…Addicted to heroin…”

 

Peter lowered his head, “…Mutated on Day 23 of Experimentation.”

 

Murdock questioned softly, possibly able to hear the distress in Peter’s voice, “Are there more?”

 

“Files? Yeah…”

 

Peter grabbed the closest one, opening it and beginning to read softly as he stared at the man with the five-o’clock shadow in the black and white photo, “Eric Graves. Thirty-Two. From Staten Island. Addicted to Oxycodone…Mutated on Day 29 of Experimentation.”

 

Shutting the file closed, Peter moved away, deciding that the burn in his eyes was going to over-take him if he read anymore. Daredevil sighed, “That explains the connection they all had. Disappeared while out to acquire their drug of choice.”

 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, moving to the other side of the lab. There was a glass door, and the closer Peter got to staring at it, the more he realized there was a small logo in the upper right hand corner. Peter’s brows tugged downward, head tilting to read the familiar insignia painted onto it…

 

_Stark Industries_

Peter almost jumped out of his skin. Maybe it was his heart rate spiking or his jerky snap, but Murdock noticed. His head shot in Peter’s direction and Peter heard the concern in his voice as he moved towards him, “What?”

 

“I-It’s,” Peter’s palms immediately started to sweat and this really _sucked_ , “I-It’s one of Mr. Stark’s products…A containment structure.”

 

“Containment structure?” Murdock must not have been a man of science, “For what, exactly?”

 

Peter pursed his lips, “ _Containment_. Mostly for dangerous research that can result in explosions.”

 

Reaching out a hand slowly, Peter flipped the heavy lock on the outside, pushing it to the side in order to gain entry to the pitch-black room. Peter tugged the handle, a humming sound squeezing through the door in a rush of air. Peter flinched slightly, before stepping into the room that felt a lot warmer than the rest of the lab…

 

There was a sound, coming from the darkness, and before Peter even had time to spurt theories on the source, it was slamming into him like a ton of bricks.

 

Peter flew backward, in a whirlwind of colors, head slamming into the ground with such force he saw stars flash in front of his eyes. Lightning and the world and then nothing, but it faded back and Karen’s voice filtered in, “Peter, you may have a mild concussion.”

 

“O-Okay,” Peter rolled over eyes widening at what he saw.

 

Scales shone in the dim lighting, and Peter stood when he processed that this…this was not, not, not a man. Not a man at all.

 

Eric Graves’ face.

 

But his body…No, the scales and the claws and…

 

Peter blinked rapidly.

 

Murdock pulled out his eskrima sticks just as the creature lunged for him next. Murdock ducked before the animal raised a hand to swipe and Peter shot out his webbing, grabbing the creature’s wrist and tugging the assaulting limb away from Daredevil. Murdock slammed two hits into the monster’s head just as it turned its body and threw out its free hand, claws and all, into Murdock, sending him straight into where Peter was holding his webbing…

 

Peter grunted when Murdock hurdled against his chest, both sent into a counter. Glass rained down from up-top as beakers broke into pieces around them and the creature roared. Peter crawled out from underneath Murdock, looking at the man with wide-worried eyes under his mask…

 

Murdock’s hands were glowing with crimson, covering a large hole in his abdomen. Peter realized why the creature was roaring now, one of its claws imbedded deep within Murdock. It too bleed profusely from its hand. Peter scrambled up to his knees as the man-creature rushed the two of them and Peter moved to put himself between Murdock and the reptile. His gloved fingers wrapped tightly around a large shard of glass and once the creature was in reach, Peter reared back, slamming it into the animal’s eye.

 

Another angry cry came and the man-creature curled back, stumbling and slamming into table after table. Peter turned hurriedly, hands grabbing at Murdock’s trembling arms as he gasped, “We gotta go, we gotta go.”

 

Peter used his superior strength to help Murdock to his feet, looping his arm over his shoulder. He reached onto the glass covered counter, hands wrapping around as many files as he could get his hands on before basically dragging Murdock out of the room. The door hissed shut behind them and Peter prayed it would contain the beast within.

 

The smell of blood and sulfur filled Peter’s nose.

 

Red dripped onto the white tiles.

 

Peter breathed deeply, but the mask was too much.

 

Murdock almost fell again.

 

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid.

 

…

 

Tony had been at Stark Industries when Happy called.

 

He hadn’t been doing anything particularly productive. Just trying to avoid going home to face Peter. To face another conversation, because at this point Tony was just ready to demand that Peter tell him who and where Daredevil was or he would be grounded to the penthouse. Forever. Or at least until Tony gave in, because that was bound to happen as well.

 

But then his phone rang, and Happy’s name appeared.

 

“What?” Tony answered, sounding colder than he had intended, “Don’t you know I’m brooding over my annoyingly stubborn kid?”

 

_“We’ve got a problem.”_

Tony would be lying if he said that statement didn’t make him want to throw his cellphone into the nearest wall.

 

“A problem? What kind of problem?” Tony hissed.

 

_“Well,”_ Happy sighed _, “I…well…went to pick up the kid, right? And he didn’t show. So I asked that Osborn kid where he was and he said Peter was in the restroom. I went looking, and the kid wasn’t there. And so…you know, I didn’t want to worry you, but I’ve been driving around looking for him and-“_

“Happy!” Tony scolded.

 

_“I’m sorry, boss. Really, I…I mean, where could he have run off to, right? He’s fifteen and probably just somewhere letting off steam.”_

“There are an abundant amount of places he could have run off to Happy,” Tony growled, “I’ll…Damn it, I’ll call you back.”

 

Tony hung up, immediately reaching for his watch and clicking several times, ordering, “FRIDAY, track Peter’s phone.”

 

The small screen zoomed in for several seconds, pinpointing an exact location. An apartment complex…In the last place Tony wanted to see Peter’s cellphone.

 

Hell’s Kitchen.

 

“Kid, I swear to God,” Tony muttered, pressing his phone to his ear again. It only rang once and the line picked up. Tony said, “Natasha, I think our spider is fraternizing with the enemy.”

 

It was really killing him at this point. The pounding of his pulse in his ears. The worry and pain and just ache of every muscle and bone in his body from being so stiff. So drawn up. This was it. The last straw. The kid was never leaving the penthouse.

 

Tony left the office, slamming the door shut so hard the glass nearly cracked.

 

…

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter gasped, dragging Daredevil through the door of the apartment and bumping him into yet another wall. The apartment was enveloped in darkness as they stumbled inside, Peter having to use the wall to hold up his screaming body. He had carried most of the man’s weight on the journey back and blood loss was playing heavily. Peter didn’t want to think about how much Murdock had probably lost.

 

Peter dropped him on the couch less than gracefully.

 

“Kit…In the bathroom,” Murdock grunted, hands recovering where the claw was still sticking out of him, “Emergency kit, medicine cabinet…Get it.”

 

Peter nodded frantically, ripping his mask off his face. He slid into the bathroom, throwing the medicine cabinet open with such force, the mirror shattered, and shards were sent spraying against the floor. Peter flinched, apologizing profusely inwardly before pulling out the large kit and rushing back into the living room where Murdock was lying stiffly on the couch.

 

The boy kneeled in front of him, popping open the kit. They were working with very little light, but Murdock’s apartment lacked much of it. Peter used the glow of the moon and the light from a tiny lamp. The rest of the apartment was pitch darkness around them, swallowing, eating them alive as Peter’s shaky fingers hovered over the kit.

 

“W-What…” Peter’s voice was unsteady, “What do I do?”

 

“Get the gauze ready,” Murdock bit back, “Get them ready and when you pull the claw out, pack the wound as quickly as you can, understand?”

 

Peter’s eyes widened from where he sat between the man’s knees, terror causing him to pale further as he exclaimed, “I can’t! I-I can’t!”

 

Suddenly, he realized how Ned felt that night he had been shot. And Peter knew then how selfish he had been to put that kind of pressure on his friend. Murdock croaked, “You have to…listen…You can do this.”

 

Peter was still, unable to make his limbs move, until he realized Murdock’s breathing was becoming more labored. Quickly, he pulled as many gauze as he could from the emergency kit, setting them aside within reach on the couch. He then extended his hand, grabbing hold of the dark, jagged claw emerging from the man’s skin. Peter’s gloves felt too warm…too slick with the blood of a man he barely knew, but the tears in his eyes were genuine and full of terrified guilt.

 

“O-okay…Okay…okay,” Peter whispered like a mantra, “I-I got it. I’m gonna…Should I count?”

 

“Just do it.”

 

Peter bit his lip, nodding his head up and down, a tear escaping with his permission and staining his cheek. He yanked upward, feeling the claw and the flesh give as it slipped out of the man with ease. Murdock let out a shocked cry and Peter finished hurriedly, practically throwing the bloodied object aside before beginning the pack the open wound that was starting to gush blood. Every movie Peter had ever seen had said not to remove objects from people and God…Did Murdock know that?

 

Had he killed him?

 

Peter blinked back his watery eyes, whimpering, “We n-need a hospital.”

 

“No,” He snapped. Murdock removed his own mask then and even though Peter knew Murdock couldn’t see him, Peter could see Murdock. He was so pale. So pale and sick looking from bleeding. Peter wanted to scream that he needed an ambulance, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak past the tears in his throat.

 

“I’m alright, Peter.”

 

“You’re not,” Peter’s voice cracked, “Y-You’re…what if you die?”

 

Peter shook his head, hard, “I don’t know what I’m doing, Mr. Murdock, I don’t know how to do this.”

 

He hated himself for crying. For not knowing how to fix this. For not telling Tony. For not going straight home. For being him, for being _Peter_ , for ever being born and the Quiet arrived. Swallowing. Gulping him down like lemonade on one of those terribly hot summer days. Peter was _nothing_ and he was this _waste_. Waste and useless and the blood running between his gloves was not his own, it was someone else’s, dying because he was _stupid_.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter lowered his head, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Shhh,” Murdock’s voice shushed, and Peter had never heard it so soft, without the harshness behind it. A weak, shaky glove patted the side of Peter’s tear drenched face, “You’re doing great. This isn’t your fault.”

 

_Everything is, though. Everything is me. I’m the constant in these deaths and injuries. It’s **me**._

There was silence, then Murdock shaking his head almost limply…

 

“Someone’s…Someone is coming I-“

 

Before he could even finish, the front door crashed open, like a thousand tons had been slammed into it. Peter flinched, unable to remove his hands from Murdock’s bleeding abdomen as two dark figures came into the poorly lit apartment. Peter’s heart hammered because nothing else…nothing else…He couldn’t stand anything worse happening tonight.

 

But then their faces came into view and Peter’s stomach dropped.

 

Standing before him, staring at his bloodied hands covering Murdock’s abdomen were Natasha and Tony.

 

Peter blinked, wide doe-eyes wet with sorrow and all he managed to whisper was…

 

“Please help him.”

 

And the Quiet...It sucked him in.


	10. It Calls to Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Stark?”
> 
> Tony didn’t pull away from the embrace, still holding so tightly Peter’s arms ached.
> 
> “Yeah?”
> 
> “It…It’s here. The Quiet. It’s so quiet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! We're nearly at the end. The next chapter will be the big fight, which I'm particularly excited to write! Love you guys sooooo much <3

Peter had noticed a long time ago that blood smelled like coins.

 

Uncle Ben would collect money in a jar, eventually bringing the coins to have them turned into cash. But Peter still remembered the smell of that jar, mostly filled with pennies, because those were much easier to come by on the street than quarters. Uncle Ben had never been particularly picky though. He’d pick up any change he could find. The money was good for birthday gifts or small family outings. And Peter remembered the smell of it on his fingers.

 

That was all he could smell as Murdock’s blood seeped over his hands.

 

“Please help him,” Peter had whispered, so softly, even he had trouble hearing himself. But his heart was beating so fast in his ears, it made everything hard to hear. His vision was blurred with tears, but he could still see Tony’s confused and startled face and Nat’s stone-cold expression as she went into the natural movement of coming forward and trying to take Peter’s place with controlling the flow.

 

She pushed Peter, gently at first, but a bit harder when the boy couldn’t seem to remove his hands. His eyes were wide and Murdock was coming in and out of consciousness, but awake enough try and sit forward, as if the shock of the two new individuals in his apartment had propelled him. He reached to push Nat away and it was just a mess of limbs, but then Tony was there too and Peter couldn’t breathe as the man tugged on his shoulders to make him stand.

 

Tony was speaking to him, but Peter just continued to blink at the blood. It wasn’t red. At least not pure red, beginning to dry into a brown crust that Peter was never going to be able to get out of the gloves on his suit. He wanted to put the mask back on. Hide his tears from the two Avengers, because if he ever wanted to be one, he was going to have to suck it up. Not cry when people started bleeding. And he just couldn’t understand why it was so hard to do that.

 

To take things in and process them, the way Nat was doing, pushing his hands away so she could get to work saving Murdock’s life.

 

“I-I-I,” Peter tried, but his tongue was tied, and it was the Quiet. The Quiet was there and Tony was trying to get him to stand again.

 

Tony ordered, chest pressed to Peter’s back and reaching over to grab the kid’s wrists and pull him away, “C’mon kid. Stand up.”

 

Peter did, but Tony did most of the work, still holding Peter’s wrists so tightly he was sure if it weren’t for his healing, he would bruise. Tony tugged him from the two adults and turned him around so that Peter was facing him. Circulation rushed back into his finger tips and Peter crossed his arms over his middle, curling forward as Tony gripped his shoulders, staring down. The tears were streaming, but Peter blinked desperately trying to get them to stop.

 

He just couldn’t _breathe_.

 

“Look at me,” Tony said, his own voice holding slight panic, “Is any of this blood yours? Are you hurt?”

 

Peter shook his head and Tony continued, “Don’t lie to me.”

 

“I’m not,” Peter’s chest spasmed, “My head, I hit it, but…I-I didn’t…”

 

Peter’s eyes ventured to look at Natasha and Murdock, but Tony grabbed his face and forced his gaze away from the pair. He heard Natasha hum under her breath, “You’re a hard man to find.”

 

“I try to keep it that way,” Murdock’s voice sounded angry and Peter…

 

_It’s my fault. They followed me. They followed me and they found him and God, I’m so stupid, why am I so stupid?_

“I’m so sorry,” Peter apologized, trying to move forward, but Tony pushed him back towards the bedroom on the other side of the living area, “I’m sorry, Mr. Murdock. I-I didn’t know they’d…I didn’t know, I _swear_.”

 

Peter’s wide eyes looked at Tony and he said, “You guys shouldn’t _be_ here.”

 

But they were there, and Peter must have looked awful, because Tony wasn’t even angry. He just looked shaken and pained because Peter was trembling and Tony could probably feel it. He could probably feel the tremors coursing through every muscle in his body. Tony was glancing back at Murdock and Natasha, but kept himself in Peter’s line of vision so that he couldn’t see anything and Peter was relatively grateful.

 

“Is he going to die?” Peter asked, sounding far too young.

 

Tony didn’t answer, and Peter felt his heart rate spike. His breathing started to slip from him and all of a sudden he found himself gasping for air. He heard Murdock grunt, “He’s about to freak out, Stark, his heart rate-“

 

Peter didn’t hear the rest. He doubled over, trying to draw air into his lungs and Tony started pushing him into the room. The door rolled closed, and it was weird, putting themselves in someone else’s house and just…whatever. Peter, even when hyperventilating, still worried about such things. Overstepping boundaries, and Tony was doing his best to keep Peter on his feet, but Peter wasn’t making it easy.

 

Not on himself. Not on anyone.

 

“Pete, it’s okay.”

 

_(I’m okay, Peter._

_Don’t cry…don’t cry, buddy, I’m fine.)_

Uncle Ben’s bloodied fingers caressed his cheek and Peter shut his eyes.

 

Tony practically dragged Peter upright, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Peter’s arms were trapped at his sides, but he felt like he was falling and this was something to keep him from doing that. From stepping off the mountain. He sobbed, knowing full and well he sounded like a baby and the last time he had cried so hard had probably been that night in the closet, when the world had come crashing down and the self-hatred had erupted like a festering wound.

 

“I didn’t mean for him to get h-hurt,” Peter whimpered.

 

Tony carded a hand through the curls on the back of Peter’s head, “I know.”

 

“I didn’t mean it.”

 

“I _know_ , kid.”

 

Peter bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. Even though Tony sounded calm, reassuring, Peter still felt _everything_. The sleep deprivation, the anger and pain, and just…Aunt May was dead, and that was still so, so fresh and bleeding out, mixing with the coins. Nothing was ever going to be right again, because Peter was nothing. Useless. And couldn’t save anyone. Not even himself.

 

And just when he thought it was going to boil over, Peter spoke it into existence.

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony didn’t pull away from the embrace, still holding so tightly Peter’s arms ached.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It…It’s here. The Quiet. It’s _so_ quiet.”

 

Tony sounded breathless, “Okay, okay…I gotcha.”

 

Peter tightened his fingers in the back of the man’s shirt. So much, his fingers hurt. Peter said, so small, “Why can’t I just do something right? Everyone…E-Everyone gets hurt around me and I’m just trying to help, I don’t _understand_ …”

 

Another sob shook his body, “It should’ve been me, Mr. Stark. Not Uncle Ben. Not Aunt May. Not Mr. Murdock…It should’ve been _me_.”

 

If it was possible, Tony’s arms got even tighter. His voice was fierce in Peter’s ear, maybe angry, but not to the point that Peter felt guilt. It was just insistent. Not to be argued with and the finality of it gave Peter no choice but to listen and believe.

 

“ _Never_ think that,” Tony whispered, “You’ve had enough pain to last you a lifetime. You don’t deserve to be hurt, you deserve to be happy and to get to grow up in relative normalcy. So…don’t think that. For your sake and mine.”

 

At the end, Tony sounded like he was begging. Begging Peter not to suffer.

 

Peter shut his eyes tightly…voice wavering, “It’s about to be bad…Mr. Stark, I-I’m gonna snot through your shirt, I’m sorry-“

 

“It’s okay. I’ll get it dry cleaned.”

 

And nothing…not even being pulled off the Raft, compared to the gratefulness he felt during that rescue.

 

…

 

The kid was sleeping.

 

Peter was _actually_ asleep.

 

Of all the places he had decided to fall asleep, it was on Daredevil’s…no…Matthew Murdock’s apartment floor, face buried into the rug, oblivious to the world and Tony still just couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that the guy they had been chasing, the guy that Peter had refused to expose, had been the lawyer that had saved the day those months ago in that court room. The lawyer that was supposed to be blind. The lawyer that…The lawyer that Tony had been grateful to, but still, the burning distrust had been called for, _apparently_.

 

Tony stared at the kid. The Quiet had come in a rush, taking hold of the boy, and after a long time, Tony didn’t know how long, spent holding the teenager while he tried to get Peter to breathe, Peter had eventually fallen asleep. It was the first time he had seen the kid close his eyes since that night in the workshop. Sleeping on the floor, and Tony realized how much he missed seeing the kid getting to rest. It was a long-awaited emptiness.

 

He just wondered how long the Quiet had been tormenting Peter before he had finally broken.

 

It could have been what was keeping the kid awake all this time. Tony at least hoped so, because that was something they could work with. Knowing the source of the insomnia was the best way to fix it. The best way to cure it and it was a root to dig up. Something to work with Doctor Middleton on. Just… _something_ to build off of.

 

Tony had, had enough of watching Peter suffer. Peter deserved more than a life of ache.

 

Carefully, Tony pushed himself to his feet, but Peter didn’t even stir. His face was lax, the most peaceful Tony had seen it in so long. The man then turned, walking to the door and sliding it open. The living room was ominously silent and still, and Tony thought for a moment Murdock was dead on the couch, staring ahead blankly. But when his body shifted, and Natasha looked back at Tony from where she was sitting on the coffee table, he knew Murdock must be fine.

 

“Got him taped back together?”

 

“The best I can,” Nat sighed, looking over at Murdock, “I cleaned and stitched the wound. He refuses to get actual medical help.”

 

Murdock spoke back, harshly, “I can get my own medical care, thank you.”

 

Tony hummed, entering the room further, waving a finger towards Murdock, even though he supposed he couldn’t see. He asked, “And I assume this is from the same creature that attacked Peter?”

 

To his surprise, Murdock shook his head, “No…Look at the files the kid grabbed. There’s more than one. This one was a man.”

 

Tony’s eyes scanned the room and sure enough, strewn out on the floor messily, were several papers and files. Tony reached down, scooping them up as he began to flip through them careless, before handing them to Nat who appeared much more interested. Tony didn’t care. That just made two different animals that were running around in the world and that in itself was a huge problem.

 

Murdock huffed, “We were in a lab at Oscorp. The creature was inside a containment unit _you_ designed, Stark.”

 

His back stiffened. Though his facial expression didn’t change, there was the familiar dropping in his stomach. The same drop he had felt when he saw his own weapons killing people in Afghanistan. When the Maximoff siblings had described the way Stark Industries’ weapons had destroyed their lives. Responsibility. His own products being used in ways he had never intended felt like being violated.

 

His mind raced. Then ceased.

 

“Connors…” Tony whispered.

 

Nat’s head nodded, holding up one of the files, “His name is on this research. Human experimentation. The mutating of human genes to bond with reptilian DNA…”

 

“Shit,” Tony hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

He wanted to flip a table. Tony had known better than to trust Oscorp. Had tried to tell Pepper and it just…People always thought he was paranoid until it was too late, and he’d admit, sometimes he was a bit over zealous. It wouldn’t hurt to have some back up every now and then though…

 

Murdock murmured, sounding tired, “The kid said something about him…That he had been at Oscorp and had run into the guy. That’s how he saw the file…I’m assuming on accident.”

 

Tony paused, “What the hell was Peter doing at Oscorp?”

 

“You’ll have to ask him that, Stark.”

 

Nat stood suddenly, pulling out her phone before walking towards the front door, muttering, “I’ve gotta make a call.”

 

“To Fury?” Tony questioned, shouting after her, despite the door closing, “Tell him I love and miss him!”

 

His voice was laced with sarcasm. Fury never showed his face when it was convenient. But he must have taken an interest in the human trafficking going on, which meant it was much bigger than any of them knew. Tony was positive they couldn’t possibly be holding all of those people in Oscorp, which meant the missing people were either running around, mutated, or…or…

 

Tony shook his head.

 

He didn’t need more pessimistic thoughts than he already had.

 

Moving around and taking the spot on the table that Nat had left, Tony placed his elbows on his knees. Murdock continued to stare blankly ahead and Tony wanted to scoff. Because this…it had to be a lie. No blind man could do what Murdock was doing. Tony had seen security footage of Daredevil at work and it just didn’t…it didn’t make any sense.

 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

 

“Oh…?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “That how you play this little game? You read minds or something?”

 

Murdock shifted on the couch, “You’re insufferable.”

 

“And you’re a shitty blind guy,” Tony snapped, “Dragging a kid into this, getting him to lie to me to protect yourself, and pretending to be blind-“

 

Murdock interrupted, tone tight and less than calm, “I didn’t drag that child into anything. He forced his way into this, and don’t get self-righteous with me, Stark, I know you gave him that suit. Enabled him. A fifteen-year-old. And yeah, I told him not to tell you who I was, but like I said, he kept digging deeper.”

 

He paused, then continued, “Also, if you’d take your head out of your ass for five minutes, you’d realize I’m not _pretending_ to be blind. I’m just a lot like your kid, my senses dialed up to borderline unbearable.”

 

Tony stared, in shock, and he was glad then that Murdock was actually blind (at least insisted he was) so he couldn’t see his face, but he knew the stunned silence was enough to get the point across. Looking down, Tony sighed deeply, shaking his head back and forth.

 

He relented, “I gave him the suit because I thought it could help him survive. Then when I took it, he went out anyway dressed in a onesie. Almost got himself killed, so…I just figured if I could give him something with a tracker in it, it’d be easier to keep an eye on him.”

 

Murdock chewed on the information for a second. Or at least, Tony thought that was what he was doing. He was so pale from blood loss, he very well could have been slipping in and out of thought processes. The entire night was a bummer, really. But he kept reminding himself that if it hadn’t been for this, Peter would still be fighting the Quiet. Trying to keep it at bay and now…now they had it and they knew what Oscorp was doing. Or what Doctor Connors was doing.

 

Tony couldn’t point his finger at the entire company, but he’d let his childish part blame Norman as well because that was just easy.

 

Suddenly, Murdock broke the thick silence.

 

“He’s a good kid.”

 

Even if Tony didn’t give a shit about Murdock’s opinion at this point, or any point, because Murdock was Daredevil and Tony had already attached villainy to that name, Tony still felt pride when hearing that. Because other people _should_ know how good Peter is. How kind and selfless he is. The kind of people that weren’t going to use that to their advantage. The kind of people that would watch Peter’s back. Tony didn’t necessarily trust Murdock…but he hadn’t hurt Peter when he had, had the chance.

 

Tony scoffed, sounding nonchalant, “You think I don’t know? May Parker raised him, of course he’s a good kid.”

 

Murdock didn’t ask who May Parker was, but even if he did, Tony wouldn’t tell him.

 

Clicking his tongue, Tony added, “Maybe try not to get stabbed again though. The kid feels some kind of loyalty to you, hell if I know why, and you kind of upset him back there.”

 

Shockingly, Murdock’s lip upturned slightly. The smallest hint of a smile. If Tony had blinked, he was sure he would have missed it, and Murdock just moved his head sideways and sounded annoyed, but something told Tony he wasn’t actually irritated as he mumbled, “My fault. Sorry.”

 

Tony could read that there was still bitterness there. That he and Nat had plunged into Murdock’s secret identity without so much as a knock on the door. But he wasn’t voicing it and Tony wondered if it was because he was tired from being impaled or if he genuinely was just the kind of person who didn’t go around speaking his mind. Either way, Tony didn’t care enough to ask.

 

The door opened and shut again and Tony looked over to see Natasha re-entering the apartment. She had a steel look on her face as she stopped and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“They’re getting a warrant. They’re going to search the facility.”

 

“They, as in…?” Tony hummed.

 

She raised an eyebrow at him. He should know the answer.

 

He did.

 

There was something annoying about Fury reaching his invisible hand into their shit, but technically speaking it wasn’t even theirs, it had been Peter’s and Murdock’s. But Nat had been kicking and screaming to get information on it, so in the end it was all for the best. Tony was just glad he could finally cut it off from Peter’s worries. From his mind. The kid needed to rest. To finally sleep. It wasn’t fair that he had been forced to suffer this long.

 

Self-sacrificial. As always.

 

Tony ran a hand through his hair and looked at Murdock.

 

“Are you as exhausted as I am?”

 

Murdock scoffed…

 

“Considering I was stabbed less than two hours ago…yes.”

 

…

 

Peter barely remembered leaving Murdock’s apartment. Not that it was anything worth remembering, being pried off the floor with the vague feeling that he had been drooling all over Daredevil’s rug, but it was still strange.

 

Like waking up from a drug induced sleep.

 

Upon returning to the penthouse, he had showered, changed into pajamas, and practically collapsed into bed. It was a feeling he missed. Exhaustion, but exhaustion that could be cured with sleep. The way his mind tinkered out completely and he was left with dreamlessness. Not wondering if he had ever fallen asleep, but knowing for sure. Knowing because it had been soundless, emptiness, nothingness. A sleep he had longed for, after weeks and weeks of suffering.

 

The Quiet had come. Tony had held him. And it had passed.

 

Like a hurricane. Destroying things in its wake, but then…the sun came out.

 

And sleep followed.

 

Peter had never been more grateful to have a breakdown in his life. So much time had been spent keeping the Quiet at bay that he hadn’t been able to let himself feel anything past building the walls and walls of protection. The self-hatred was more than that, it was fire, and it burned, but when it passed, when the wounds stopped festering, it was like a relief he could never describe. And Tony’s comfort had been welcomed. He had felt _safe_.

 

For the first time in a long time, he had felt relatively put together.

 

It was only when the sun was pouring in too much for him to ignore that his eyes fluttered open, greeted by the giant windows of his bedroom. The memories of the night before felt distant, like an entirely different lifetime, which was the norm, he guessed, for brief mental-breakdowns. He rubbed his face, and he realized how much he missed it. Missed actually waking up and having slept so hard that his arm was numb from being stuck under his body.

 

Things that he had taken for granted. He had never noticed how wonderful a full night’s rest was until it had disappeared.

 

Peter turned his head to face the inward portion of his room, away from the windows. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Tony there, sleeping, head limp back against the chair. Peter felt the vague sense of a memory stirring in his mind. Waking up after being rescued from the Raft in his room, Tony being there, sleeping. Vomiting on himself.

 

Hopefully, that wouldn’t be repeated.

 

The only pain he felt was on the back of his head though where he had hit the floor too hard. But other than that, things were okay. Circulation was returning to his arm, and he was awake. Tony knew now, knew about Murdock and the guilt was still there, but also relief. Because the secret was gone and having secrets between himself and Tony was just so burdensome…

 

Peter spoke, his voice coming out a bit hoarse from sleeping, “Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony’s eyes blinked open. Not startled, until he seemed to remember where he was, then his head popped up. He leaned forward slightly, causing Peter to lift himself to his elbows, still lying under the blankets on his stomach. Once the man appeared to be more awake, he questioned the boy, “You alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Peter assured, “Not gonna puke, if that’s what you thought.”

 

Tony scoffed at that, leaning back and relaxing. Maybe he had actually been worried about it, but was trying to play it off like he hadn’t.

 

It was strange, but Peter found it funny.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

That was a question Peter had come to dread, recently. Because every minute of every day in the past few months, he had felt on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall off. Slipping as rocks crumbled and echoed down the precipice. It had felt like a burden, being asked that, because he knew he’d have to lie. He’d have to force smiles on the lips that just wanted to frown and make it reach eyes that were too tired to even cry. But now…after crumbling on a floor and letting it hurt…He felt…

 

“Honestly…” Peter whispered, “That’s the best sleep I’ve had in like…forever.”

 

Tony was silent, and Peter continued, “I feel…not cured but…rested.”

 

Thoughts weren’t so fuzzy. Words weren’t running together. Tony let out a slow breath, his shoulders going lax, as if he had been holding the entire world and could suddenly let it go. And Peter couldn’t help but think that was his own doing. He had put the world on the man’s shoulders, worrying him so much. And that was something he’d never forget. But…Tony looked so much more peaceful that way.

 

“That’s great, Peter.”

 

It was genuine. As close to softness as Tony could get sometimes. Peter rolled onto his back, sitting up fully on the bed. Shaking his head, he asked, “H-How’s Mr. Murdock doing? He seemed tired…when we left last night.”

 

_Then again, I was tired too, and I hadn’t even been stabbed._

“He’s fine,” Tony reassured, “Nat is keeping a ‘secret’ eye on him. But keeping a comfortable distance. The guy did help her tag Oscorp with the human trafficking, particularly Doctor Connors. They’re supposed to be issuing a warrant to search his lab soon…Probably in an hour or so actually…”

 

Tony looked at his watch and muttered, “Bet Connors is shitting himself right now.”

 

Peter smiled, but it slipped from his lips to a soberer expression. Twiddling his thumbs, Peter casted his gaze downward and he stuttered, “U-Uh…Mr. Stark?”

 

There was silence and even though Peter wasn’t looking at him, he knew Tony had probably raised his eyebrow, waiting for the words to escape the teen. Peter cleared his throat a bit more, shaking his head back and forth, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Kid, you said sorry enough last night to last a lifetime,” Tony was trying to sound light, but Peter sighed.

 

“There aren’t enough sorrys,” Peter insisted, “I shouldn’t have kept Murdock’s identity from you, I just…He didn’t want anyone to know and it wasn’t my place…because I don’t want anyone to know me either and I-I…”

 

Peter groaned and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m just sorry. You do all this for me…You try to protect me, and I know I get annoyed, but…”

 

His eyes lifted and he and Tony stared at each other a moment.

 

“You’re a _good_ parent, Mr. Stark. I don’t tell you that enough, but…you’re _good_. You don’t have to invest all this time and energy into me, b-but you _do_.”

 

Tony inhaled sharply, as if the words were resonating so deeply he could barely stand it. This time, he was the one who broke eye contact, eyes shifting across the room towards the wall. His throat bobbed and Peter felt slight panic that maybe he had said something wrong. That he had made the man angry.

 

But that worry was washed away when Tony said, “Not to sound cliché but…kid, you’re the best investment I’ve ever made with my time, trust me on that. And you’re my greatest source of entertainment.”

 

Peter grinned, laughing a bit. The anxiety melted…Connors would be investigated. Murdock was going to be alright and he had Nat to make sure of that. Peter had _slept_. And the Quiet had come and been blown away as quickly as it had surfaced. He could breathe again, like the thing he had been fighting, bottling up, had exploded and was now in the process of healing, the hardest part was over. Wound was cleaned and wrapped and ready for recovery.

 

Tony stood, patting him on the shoulder as he did so. Peter was left to get dressed for the day, before exiting the bathroom and his bedroom to find Tony eating a bowl of cereal. The two ate in relative silence, yet it was comfortable, still recovering from the night before in some ways. Peter was terribly grateful that his escapade hadn’t resulted in a fight. That they could be together, not yelling, but like a real family. And when Pepper would get back from her business trip, they’d truly be a family again.

 

But he felt…He should have known it was too good to be true.

 

It started when Tony’s phone chimed. A message from Nat telling them to turn on the news. And Tony did, while Peter watched with concern, because Black Widow didn’t just text people telling them to turn on the news unless it was something…bad.

 

Both moved into the living area as Tony clicked the remote, changing the channels from where Peter had been watching old sitcoms days ago, listening to the laugh track like it was the only source of glee in the world. Then the voice of the anchor-woman filled the room and Peter felt his palms begin to sweat almost immediately…

 

_“We’re getting reports of a developing situation at Oscorp Headquarters this morning. According to emergency personnel, a disgruntled employee has taken several persons hostage in the building after police arrived with a search warrant…”_

Peter’s ears were ringing.

 

Tony stepped away, cursing under his breath and Peter didn’t ask who he was calling. All he could do was stare at the news footage of the building, emergency lights flashing from the ground. Imagining the panicked people inside. People that Connors was threatening. Maybe hurting. Peter ran both hands through his hair, chewing his lower lip. His fault for thinking the universe was finally giving him a break.

 

The woman’s face appeared again without warning…

 

_“We just received unofficial word that Norman Osborn’s son is among said hostages.”_

_Harry, what the **hell** are you doing in the building? I swear to God, if you were feeding that rat-lizard…_

Peter’s brain nearly exploded, fingers twitching as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He glanced back anxiously. Tony had disappeared into the workshop, maybe to get his own suit, but Peter couldn’t…he _couldn’t_ just stand there. He had the ability to help and if he didn’t…the bad things that would follow…

 

Peter ran to grab his own suit.

 

He’d probably regret it later.


	11. Feel the Distance in the Soooouuuulll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter rolled over, looking up at Connors.
> 
> He gasped, “Initiate lockdown.”
> 
> And they plummeted into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo here's the big chapter! I'm so sad this story is coming to end, but I'm extremely happy that you guys have seemed to enjoy it! I hope this chapter is okay, I struggle writing big fight scenes, but it's also fun in a weird way? I don't know, I enjoy a good challenge haha  
> Thank you all for being such lovely readers ❤ you all make my heart siiiiiing! XD

There were people on their death-beds that were going to live longer than Peter.

 

He had convinced himself of such a thing.

 

Because as he swung towards Oscorp, having practically thrown himself from the penthouse window because- _shit_ -Tony probably knew he was gone the moment the window cracked or even before then. So, either Tony was going to kill Peter or the crazy scientist that now had people held hostage in Oscorp Tower, along with Harry, was.

 

It was just a shit day. Just when he thought it would be a great day, he had _this_ to worry about.

 

And maybe he should have been more panicked rather than annoyed, but he was just…pissed. Because it was still early in the morning and the sun was blinding him while he was trying to swing and he was struggling. Despite feeling well-rested, he had no desire to be Spider-Manning today. Connors was almost locked up. Almost. So close.

 

“Peter?” Karen’s voice said just as Peter was approaching the building, beginning to build momentum to do something really, really stupid, “Tony Stark is calling.”

 

“Ignore him.”

 

“It goes against my protocol-“

 

Peter didn’t hear the rest. He got a good grip on his webbing, swinging outward and flipping. The flashing lights of the emergency personnel below briefly met his vision as he came upright, legs forward and he sailed through the same shattered window in which he had entered the night before. He hit the floor harder than he expected, hearing as the surrounding crowd below began to scream in shock, probably unsure of who or what had just flown through the window into the tower.

 

“Peter, I’m patching him through.”

 

“No, Karen-“

 

_“Peter.”_

Peter stumbled to his feet, using the desk bedside him to find his footing as he began to push the glass from the floor off of him. His back ached from the hard landing and he glanced around briefly before replying, “I know what you’re gonna say.”

 

_“Oh do you? So why aren’t you turning your ass around and going back to the penthouse then?”_

“Well, okay,” Peter whispered, lowering his voice as he peered around the corner, down the hallway. Everything was still and the silence was almost unnerving, “I’m already here, Mr. Stark. I probably have to stay at this point, like it’s mandatory-“

 

_“Come **back**.”_

Peter sighed, leaning against the frame, and thumping his head back against it, still feeling the impact from behind the mask. He waved his hands around as if Tony could see them before continuing to speak in a low volume, “I _really_ can’t talk right now.”

 

 _“You’re_ really _about to be in a lot of trouble. Peter, if I have to come there and drag you out in my suit-“_

“No!” Peter struggled to stay quiet, “You’re not inconspicuous enough, Connors might hear you clanking up and down the halls. You might get the hostages killed, Mr. Stark, let me handle this.”

 

There was a pause from the other end. Pregnant silence. Peter felt the weight of it and breathed, “You know I’m right. I can _do_ this, Mr. Stark, I promise. Let me do this, _please_.”

 

He could hear Tony breathing…Hesitating…

 

Then, “The first sign of trouble and Natasha and I are coming in.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter muttered. The line cut, and his heart swelled slightly with pride that Tony trusted him enough to allow him to do it on his own. Peter stood, sliding up the wall before ordering, “Karen, scan for the hostages.”

 

His mask lit up, his head turning back and forth, searching through the heat signatures until he settled on a small group of human shaped ones on the, no surprise, 20th floor. Karen spoke bluntly, “There seem to be a total of four hostages.”

 

“Awesome,” Peter commented, “Uh-well, ya know. Not awesome, but…”

 

He trailed off. AIs probably didn’t care for explanations. Peter began to move down the hallway, opting to use the stairs instead of the elevator for fear of someone hearing it. He was careful with the heavy door, pushing it open and peering up the stairwell, leaning over the edge to study it up and down. Even though Karen had shown him the four hostages, he still had no clue where Connors was or if any of his insane creatures were roaming somewhere in the building. That would certainly add insult to injury, to be outnumbered and outgunned.

 

He tried to focus his fear in on the fact that he had actually left the night before, but it was hard and the anxiety was welling. He found himself wishing that he and Daredevil could team up again, but since the guy was recovering from a traumatic stab wound, it probably wasn’t an option at the moment. If anything, if Daredevil had been up to a fight, he probably would have been the first person on the scene.

 

Did Daredevil even come out during the day? Peter had never asked.

 

Peter had always preferred daylight patrols.

 

Taking the steps slowly, one at a time, Peter climbed flight after flight, cringing anytime he made a sound. Were they super hearing reptiles? What exactly could they do? Reptiles ate bugs and Peter was not happy when that idea slipped into his head like a parasite.

 

_You’re good. You’re good. You’re good. This is fine. I’m fine. I’m great._

Peter pushed the door to the 20th floor open, again shutting it with precision. The silence was interrupted by heart beats and Peter wasn’t sure if it was his own or the heartbeats of others. They were racing though, leading him to believe he heard more than one, filtering through the air and into his hyper-sensitive ears when he focused. The further down the hall he moved, the more he realized he was approaching Connors’ lab.

 

The door was standing wide open…Almost conveniently.

 

That wasn’t a good sign, Peter knew, he had seen too many movies where that meant something bad was about to happen.

 

The hallway was barely lit, and when he peered into the lab, the same lighting followed. Just like the night before. The lab was still in disarray from their run in with the creature they had practically helped escape. Broken beakers covered the floor and crunched under Peter’s feet the further he entered the room, following the heartbeats that were getting harder to focus on through his anxiety.

 

Approaching the containment unit, Peter cupped his hands around the glass, peering inside. He jumped back when a hand slammed against the glass, and almost expected it to be the hand of one of the humanoids, but instead, it was just a human palm, pressing hard enough to turn white. Peter didn’t hesitate to yank the door open, the same puff of air escaping the unit.

 

When his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting he was able to make out the four figures of the hostages, standing, looking at him with shocked eyes. Three were wearing white coats, probably other scientists of some sort. And one, holding a small creature in his hands, was Harry Osborn, staring at Peter’s mask with a hard expression.

 

Peter cleared his throat, trying to mask his voice with the Queens accent he had used when speaking to his friends inside the Washington Monument.

 

“Where’s Connors?”

 

They all stood silent, shaking, mouths pressed shut as if terrified. Peter raised an eyebrow under his mask, briefly glancing at Jimmy the lizard-rat before continuing to wait, impatience growing. Finally, Harry himself stepped forward and asked, “You didn’t see him out there?”

 

Peter shifted, glancing back and seeing nothing. He felt a sense of paranoia begin to strike him in the gut and he stepped aside before saying, “No, but I think we should all leave in case he comes back, yeah?”

 

They hesitantly began to file out, and as Harry passed, Peter questioned, almost forgetting that Harry didn’t know he was Peter under the mask, “You’re bringing that thing?”

 

“Got a problem with it Halle Berry?”

 

Peter’s jaw dropped, “Woah, no dude. Rude.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and Peter knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that even in a life or death situation, Harry would still be as sarcastic as ever trying to rescue Jimmy. He wanted to ask why he was even there in the first place, but that would give away too much about Peter Parker and Peter liked Harry and all but he wasn’t prepared to share that portion of his life like he had shared it with Ned. Well…he hadn’t even meant to share it with Ned.

 

The small herd of people began to move towards the door when it suddenly stopped and Peter bumped into one of the scientists. He peered around, stopping mid question as he grunted, “What’s the hold up-“

 

But then he saw him. Standing in the doorway, shrouded in a shadow from the hallway and lab was Connors’ figure. His face was blank, as if observing the escape with no sort of remorse or anger. Empty and broken and Peter immediately put himself between Connors and the hostages, holding out his arms as if it would protect them more.

 

Peter felt his senses stabbing him in the spine, but he stood his ground.

 

“So, this is what I’m reduced to,” Connors hummed, entering further and Peter pushed the hostages back a bit, “A minor-vigilante coming to rescue my hostages.”

 

Peter felt slightly offended, “Minor-vigilante, future avenger. You should be honored, dude.”

 

The humor did little to hide the quake in his voice and his laugh was more than strained. Seeing what the man had done to people, experimenting on them, ripping their genetics apart and forcing them to become monsters it was…terrifying. More than he had wanted to see in his life, but the people were more important than his fear and if he was going to get them out of there alive, he was going to have to be brave.

 

Connors approached one of the tables and whispered, “I saw the security footage of you and that other masked-monster letting my work escape last night…then I wake up to police ordering to search my lab. I suppose those weren’t coincidences…”

 

He raised an eyebrow towards Peter, his mouth frowning, “Years of research, gone. My life’s work, _gone_. Do you know how many people this research could have helped?”

 

Holding up his amputated limb, he growled, “It was revolutionary.”

 

“It was wrong,” Peter replied, trying to inch the hostages diagonally towards the door Connors had stepped away from, “You were taking people against their will. Twisting them up and letting them die and it was _wrong_.”

 

He flinched when Connors’ composure disappeared into a scream, “You’re ignorant! You sound like a child in a costume! Those people were the dirt of society, drug addicts that were going to kill themselves using anyway, mine as well put them to good use!”

 

Peter could see the vein popping out of the man’s neck. Great, now even the bad guys were calling him a child, even through his impressive Queens accent. The scientist started digging around in one of the desks, pulling out was appeared to be a spring-loaded needle. Peter’s brows tugged together in confusion as Connors looked up at him and hissed, “You’ll see.”

 

He stabbed the needle into his own thigh and at first, there was nothing. Just a long breath escaping the mad-man. Peter swallowed thickly though when he started to shake, a scream escaping his lips and ripping through the room like murder. Peter shook his head back and forth, watching as the man’s skin looked about ready to tear at the seams and he withered on the ground. Peter asked, voice cracking, “Karen, what’s happening?”

 

“My scanners show extreme genetic changes taking place, Peter.”

 

_Oh shit. Oh shit! He’s out of his freaking mind!_

Peter turned to the hostages and shouted, “Run! Don’t stop until you’re with the police outside, go now!”

 

He didn’t have to tell them twice. They broke into sprints, Harry only hesitating slightly, still holding Jimmy in his hands. He looked up at Peter, eyes wide, glancing between him and the man rolling on the floor with skin that was bleeding. Peter pushed him, not too hard and ordered, “Go!”

 

Harry’s eyes moved to one of the desks, pointing at the computer. He ordered, “You can put the building on emergency lock down. If he gets out of here, like that-“

 

“Okay, okay, I will, just run!” Peter tried again, voice desperate this time. Harry nodded his head, turning and exiting the room, disappearing down the hallway. Peter dodged as an object was thrown at him suddenly and when he looked back at Connors, the man was standing now, still letting out pained breaths. His body was turning a sickly green color, his teeth like daggers and a tail appear out of nowhere.

 

Peter scrambled towards the computer, stuttering, “K-Karen, tell me when the hostages are out and help me lock down the building.”

 

“Okay Peter,” Karen confirmed and Peter ducked again. Connors still seemed uneasy on his feet, but claws had sprouted, and he worked getting around the counter towards Peter. Peter shot out a web at the monster’s feet, but it was quickly ripped through and Peter’s eyes widened. He jumped over the counter, away from the computer.

 

Peter shouted as Connors swiped his claws up, scraping the lightbulbs and sending sparks down, raining over the room. He asked, “Karen, can you get control of the building remotely? Because I didn’t really bring a USB cord-“

 

She replied, “It will take approximately eight minutes for me to override the system into lockdown. The last hostage has just exited through the back, would you like me to proceed?”

 

Connors lunged, apparently getting full control of his limbs. Peter didn’t have time to duck to the side, a hand swiping out and catching his shoulder, claws slicing into him like knives over his shoulder blade. Peter hit the counter, slamming into the gas line and floor right after. The gas line disconnected and the smell assaulted Peter’s nose immediately. He groaned, scurrying around the structure as Connors came forward to continue the assault.

 

“Yes, yes! Proceed!”

 

His mask was suddenly filled with codes flashing across his vision and he shouted, “Shit Karen, I can’t see!”

 

“Sorry Peter.”

 

Peter grabbed a glass beaker, chunking it at Connors, who didn’t even look like Connors anymore. He had transformed into some kind of lizard and Peter just…it was a lot to wrap his mind around as he felt the warm blood sliding down his shoulder blade and his back through the suit. He felt dizzy, wanting to vomit, but he didn’t get time before Connors let out a loud shout of anger at having the beaker thrown at him.

 

“Five minutes.”

 

“Please go faster, no pressure,” Peter held his arm close, trying to relieve some of the pain in his shoulder.  He just needed to keep the lizard distracted until they could go on lockdown. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to escape. Peter waved his arm, shouting, “Come get me, dumbass!”

 

He tried to lure him towards the containment unit, but Connors seemed to still be in there, _thinking_ , because he wouldn’t get too close. Peter shot a web, yanking, with the hopes of dragging him in, but the lizard wrapped his hand around the webbing, pulling Peter forward instead. Peter let out a sound of surprise, Connors’ scaly forearm meeting Peter’s face. Peter felt his lip open up and his head smacked against the floor.

 

“Fifteen Seconds.”

 

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, slipping away before Connors could stab his claws in. This whole distracting thing really sucked. Peter was almost to his feet again when a hand wrapped around his ankle, lifting him high enough to slam him back down. Peter’s teeth jarred, jaw almost hitting the floor as his chest and stomach made impact one…two…three times…

 

“Karen!”

 

“Ready, Peter.”

 

Peter rolled over, looking up at Connors.

 

He gasped, “Initiate lockdown.”

 

And they plummeted into darkness.

 

…

 

Tony was not happy when he and Nat arrived at Oscorp.

 

Not happy in the slightest.

 

He stepped out of the vehicle and Nat exited from the passenger side. He had called her directly after getting off the phone with Peter. Circling in the sky, he had one of his suits, ready to be called if need-be. A large crowd had formed around the skyscraper and Tony was trying his best not to shove his way past the onlookers to get to where the police had formed a barricade.

 

The expression on the officer’s face was almost priceless when he and Nat passed. He hadn’t even tried to stop Tony from entering.

 

He peered up, eyes squinted against the glaring sunlight. Nothing obvious was amiss in the tower. It looked normal, despite everyone on the ground and the flashing lights. Nat shook her head beside him, muttering, “I’m surprised you let him do this.”

 

“I didn’t let him,” Tony growled, “He left before I could stop him and…he somehow talked me into agreeing that this was the best idea, but I still don’t necessarily believe him. I mean shit…”

 

He ran a hand through his hair nervously, trying to fight the urge to call his suit to him. Nat interrupted his inner turmoil though when she said, “There’s Norman, come on.”

 

Tony almost stopped her, but she was already stalking towards the man in the formal suit several feet closer to the building, speaking to a police officer. Usually, his face was stoic, passive, but in that moment, he looked pale and nervous. Tony knew it was wrong of him to think Norman didn’t give a shit about his kid, but still, Tony saw him in a similar light as Howard after the conversation at the theater with Harry.

 

Once they were close enough to be noticed, Norman’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of Tony. He stepped away from the officer, and Tony asked quickly, “Any news?”

 

He tried to sound steady. Mostly because he couldn’t give off the hint that he was worried about his own kid being in there. Norman, looking surprised, asked, “You didn’t send him in?”

 

“Send who in?” Nat interrupted.

 

“The Spider-Man,” Norman pointed up at the building, “He crashed into the building several minutes ago…sailed through a window that was already broken. I thought…well…I just thought he was one of yours.“

 

Tony diverted the attention, “I didn’t send him in.”

 

_A lie, but it’s just Norman so doesn’t really matter._

Norman ran a hand over his head before whirling back towards the police officer, “Can’t you just send someone up?”

 

“I’m sorry sir,” The officer responded, “Until we know what Connors is demanding, we don’t want to risk the safety of the hostages.”

 

Tony actually felt surprised when Norman lost his composure briefly, raising his voice, “My son is in there, you idiot!”

 

Then Tony felt guilt.

 

Right. Norman was human being. Tony didn’t like to be reminded of that fact. It was easier to view him as a money hungry guy that didn’t care about anything but making said money. He looked away, thinking of all the times he had thought Peter was somewhere suffering or dying and he never thought he’d ever feel any sort of connection to Norman Osborn, but in that moment he did. Even though it was Norman’s employee that had done all this.

 

Suddenly, the glass door to the building up the many steps flew open and three figures in white coats ran out. Their eyes were wide and terrified and after a few more moments a fourth figure exited, this time a boy. Harry. Several police officers rushed forward, assisting the shocked hostages in their decent down the stairs, but Harry was quick to wave them off, eyes landing directly on Norman.

 

The kid looked surprised to see his father there.

 

There were instances where Tony had felt that towards his own father.

 

Harry rushed towards them, and once he was in arms reach, Norman grabbed his shoulders tightly. Harry was holding something in his hands, something that was squirming, but no one seemed to be paying it any mind. Harry’s eyes were wide and he stuttered, “D-Dad…Spider-Man is in there…And Connors was…he was…”

 

The kid was gasping, having been sprinting and his face was terribly pale. Without warning, an alarm began to blare and the officers who were attempting to push the door open to enter the building were unsuccessful. Norman’s eyes narrowed in confusion and Harry’s head whirled back towards the building, whispering, “Oh shit, he did it?”

 

“Did what?” Tony questioned.

 

Harry looked at Tony as if he wasn’t supposed to be there before he replied, “I told him…Spider-Man…to put the building on lockdown, so Doctor Connors wouldn’t escape. H-He was turning into some kind of… _animal_.”

 

Tony didn’t need anymore confirmation.

 

He raised his watch to his mouth and ordered, “FRIDAY, get my suit down here, now.”

 

…

 

Being locked in the dark lab with the lizard-Connors was not the most thrilling experience of Peter’s short life.

 

Especially not when his shoulder was bleeding, burning, and making him panic that maybe he had gotten some kind of flesh eating disease from being clawed open. Really, it just sucked and Peter was pretty sure he didn’t have long before his eyes would roll into the back of his head and he would be left at the mercy of Connors, his hiding place blown.

 

“Peter, you have lost a considerable amount of blood.”

 

Peter pressed his head back against the counter where he was hiding, taking in the most silent-deep breath he could muster. It was no secret, what was happening to him. Hoping that Connors didn’t hear him gasping or smell his blood. Peter could hear the creature slinking around, knocking glass objects over and Peter’s mask allowed him to see Connors when he was brave enough to turn his head around, but Peter’s movements were so risky…

 

Peter fought the urge to just stand up and charge Connors, but all in all, his face hurt and his shoulder was gushing and he just didn’t have the energy. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a plan, but it was hard and his thoughts were fuzzy, framed by a haze that wasn’t lifting, no matter how many times he blinked against the darkness.

 

It smelled like the coins again. Like coins and the gas from the gas line he had been knocked into by Connors. It was filling the room, making him feel more nauseated by each passing moment. Could he vomit silently? Was that even possible? He didn’t know, he had never tried to vomit quietly before, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed.

 

“You know, Osborn would have been too weak to see the miracles my experiments could offer…”

 

Peter jumped. It was the first time Connors had spoken in some time…

 

The lizard-man continued, “…just like you’re too weak…too weak to _see_. But I’m stronger than you, little-spider. I’m stronger than everyone now.”

 

Peter turned his head slowly, trying to look around the counter he was hiding against. However, just as he did, a rough, scale covered hand from the other direction wrapped tightly around his neck. Peter gasped, his body yanked forward roughly and in the darkness he was met with the face of the lizard. Peter croaked past the pressure on his windpipe, but hardly anything escaped.

 

“The lizard versus the bug,” Connors grinned, “I think we can both assume how this ends.”

 

Peter choked, “Stop… _monologuing_ …”

 

Peter shot a web into the lizard’s face causing him to be released. He sucked in air greedily as Connors let out a wail, trying to unstick the webbing from his eyes and Peter scurried away. His chest heaved and he coughed, trying to put some distance between himself and Connors. Peter moved around several counters, trying to think, listening at Connors continued to shout behind him, fighting with the webbing on his face.

 

Whirling around, once he had put some distance between them, Peter watched as Connors’ shadow flailed madly. He was about to set out his own assault on the distracted monster when Connors’ form slammed back into a Bunsen Burner behind him. It was a split second, and Peter didn’t…he didn’t even _think_ about the fact that the room was filled to the brim with the smell of gas, but it was just a spark. Barely a spark, really. Hardly anything and yet it was so _much_.

 

A flash. Bright. Like a bomb and then…

 

_Whoosh_

The flames spread like veins in the body and Peter dropped instantly to the floor as the explosion ripped through, popping his ears. He felt the heat, as hot as that apartment fire almost a year ago where he had saved two puppies. He could feel it burning into the costume, and singing him. But his skin remained relatively intact and his ears were filled with the popping of several glass beakers and the wailing of Connors filling the lab.

 

The smell of smoke burned his nostrils and Peter wiggled, lifting his head in the slightest when it felt safe again. The room was most definitely on fire now, papers burning up and table tops littered with flames. Connors was continuing to shout and Peter scrambled up to his feet, gasping for air against the intense heat in the room, wanting so much to take off his mask because it felt too much like being on the beach that night, the plane burning around him.

 

Toomes.

 

Sand and glass and just…air, air, air…

 

But he was trapped in a lab. Trapped and small and too young.

 

Connors was running towards him, obviously in agony, but angrier now more than ever. Peter grabbed a stool, the heat digging through his gloves as he threw it at Connors, only for the lizard to swat it away like a baseball, sending it back towards Peter and into his gut. The metal leg popped right off and they all hit the ground together, Connors knocking him back.

 

They were a mess of limbs at first and Peter fought to keep the hands away from his throat. But the blood loss still played heavily, pushing at the back of his mind and weakening his shoulder and arm. Connors was strong, bending Peter’s wrists back as the boy tried to press upward and gain some kind of upper hand, but nothing. Peter’s head cracked against the floor for what felt like the hundredth time and Peter watched at Connors raised his claws upward.

 

Then, nothing and everything. All at once. Like a pain he had experienced very few times.

 

The sharpness entered his abdomen, two perfect punctures. And Peter thought, _shit_ , Murdock was tough for taking that without screaming, because Peter _screamed_. He screamed his throat raw as the claw dug deeper, and he withered. His body surged, adrenaline kicking in and he reached for the metal leg that had broken off of the stool. The movement was quick, an instinct, digging the metal rod into the already burned chest of the lizard.

 

The screaming was his, but it was Connors’ too.

 

Like souls being burned and Peter just…there was _nothing_ as the claws yanked out of him and Connors stumbled back, the long leg to the stool sticking out of his chest before he collapsed. Peter felt the blood leaving his body, what little hadn’t abandoned him with his shoulder wound. Connors’ breathing shuddered, but Peter knew…they were slowing. Both he and Connors were _slowing_ and there was nothing to do about it.

 

_I never remembered what my parents’ faces looked like._

Not without the help of pictures anyway. Why were pictures the only way? He wished he had one with him. One with his mother and father. One with Ben and May. He was so, so scared their faces would cease too.

 

He heard an explosion. A different one this time, ripping through the room and the door in the distance flew off its hinges and he thought, what a shitty lockdown system, because Iron Man’s glowing armor entered into the orange-flamed room, shining a light over him.

 

Peter’s eyes shut.

 

And maybe he’d never get to have his sixteenth birthday, but he could remember Tony’s and Pepper’s faces at least.

 

…

 

It was a mess.

 

A bloody and fire brimmed mess.

 

Tony didn’t know what he expected really, when he broke into the building and blew the door down. But finding Peter bleeding out with two holes in his stomach was not it. Connors, dead, with a metal rod sticking out of his chest, was not it. Fire and ash and death. That was not it. Not at all and he had thought…God, Peter had been so still, so motionless, so nothing when Tony had entered he had thought he was off, dead, along with Connors.

 

But he wasn’t.

 

The ordeal had been fast. Scraping Peter off the floor, like a doll, flying him out. Calling Cho, ordering a team of doctors to get their asses to the penthouse with all of their equipment while being discrete, because there was no time to get to the compound and hospitals couldn’t be trusted and Tony just needed someone to do something. Fast. Because Peter was…Peter was…

 

“He’s dying,” Tony gasped when Nat assisted him with laying the boy on the bed. Cho had said she was only eight minutes out, but eight minutes was so long when Peter was dying and bleeding out on his comforter, “Natasha, he’s _dying_.”

 

Tony stepped out of his suit, sending it to the work shop just for the sake of getting it out of the way. Nat must have driven like a maniac, because she had arrived before Tony and Tony had fucking flew. Her face was as stoic as ever, but her eyes said something different and if Nat was worried then Tony sure as hell better be freaking out.

 

She dumped several items from the emergency cabinet-how she knew where it was, he did not know-and she began to dig through. Tony yanked Peter’s mask off, leaning over the teenager and patting his face gently, ordering, “Peter? Wake up.”

 

“He’s bleeding out, Tony,” Natasha snapped, cutting open the suit to expose Peter’s chest and abdomen. Two large stab wounds appeared and it seemed Peter’s shoulder was bleeding as well, underneath, if the bloodstains and tears in the suit were any indicator. Natasha seemed more concerned about his abdomen though, beginning to pack the wounds.

 

She continued, “He’s not going to wake up yet.”

 

Tony stared at Peter’s face as Nat applied pressure. He was as white as a sheet, breaths shallow and labored. Broken. And Tony had let him go in. Had let him face the lizard alone. Knowing he would be alone. And sure, the kid had stopped Connors, but at what cost?

 

What had it cost?

 

“Natasha,” Tony ran his hands through his hair.

 

“Hold it together,” Nat ordered.

 

And he was trying. Really. As the minutes ticked by and eventually when Cho and her team flooded the room. When Tony was forced to leave Peter’s bedroom. When Nat had patted his shoulder and whispered everything would be okay. He held it together, tried, took four shots of whiskey in just a few minutes time, watching the clock tick by and the sound of the doctors speaking lowly to each other in the next room. The next room where Peter was bleeding.

 

Dying.

 

But then Pepper came in, those four hours later, having taken an emergency flight. And she had hugged Tony tightly around the neck and he just…he thought it was nothing and then it was _a_ _lot_. And the tears were warm, like the fire in the lab. Warm and uncomfortable, because Nat was still there, several feet away, but whatever. Whatever. He just had to let himself _be_ for a moment and exist and feel what it was.

 

That’s what it was like.

 

Like waiting, after the Raft.

 

And waiting was always the same.

 

Ultimately, it had taken six hours to get Peter put back together. Six hours of suturing wounds on his abdomen and shoulder. Treating him for his concussion and blood loss. Managing minor burns on his arms and hands. His bedding was changed, ruined by the blood, but Tony didn’t care at that point. Peter’s face was bruised, but less pale. His mouth was split and a light bruise was forming on his chin. Sedated and slipped off where Tony wished he was.

 

 _“He’ll heal rapidly, but recovery should take at least two or three weeks,”_ Cho had told him, but Tony just thought the boy’s life was so full of recoveries. Never ending recoveries.

 

Pepper held Peter’s hand and Tony just watched, looking out the window and pacing. Acting as if the boy was made of glass because he was, sometimes. But _wasn’t_ and Tony just pretended because again, it was easier that way. Easier than letting Peter go out into a world that seemed to only hurt him.

 

It had been Daredevil’s fight. Natasha’s fight. Somehow it had become Peter’s punishment and why was that even fair?

 

So that night. When Daredevil appeared on the terrace, holding his abdomen like he too was in the same pain Peter was in, Tony had been angry. Originally. But he was too tired and too weak and Pepper was sleeping on the couch so he didn’t want to start screaming. Daredevil leaned heavily against the metal railing, and Tony wondered how he got up so high, but didn’t ask because Daredevil was weird and could have just come up the elevator.

 

“He’s alive?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

Tony’s response bit. But that was what fathers did, didn’t they, when their children were harmed? Even adoptive fathers. And Daredevil wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but Tony could blame him and Nat as much as he damn well pleased, even if Nat was still hovering somewhere in the shop, just in case, because Nat did that and her family, the Avengers, were gone and Peter was something to focus on. At least until Steve and Sam got back from wherever.

 

Tony stated bluntly, “You’re alive.”

 

“Kind of,” Came Daredevil’s response, mimicking Tony’s like a stamp.

 

There was a pause, “But I don’t heal faster than the average person. I assume he does from what I saw when my friend stitched him.”

 

“It’s shit with the timeliness, but it works faster than us, yeah.”

 

Awkward silence and Tony let out a long sigh, “Fifteen is too young for so many stitches.”

 

“Fifteen is too young for much of anything,” Murdock scoffed, “But stitches, yeah…I’ve seen more in younger. And…the kid could be worse off than having you to help him back up.”

 

Tony nodded, “Gee, thanks. That’s such a compliment coming from someone as saintly as you.”

 

“There are no saints left in the world, Stark.”

 

_Yeah, cause they all got themselves killed._

In the end, Murdock left with one of Tony’s best bottles of scotch, but it was probably for the better. In favor of both of them. Because Murdock looked horrid and Tony didn’t need anymore to drink that night. Daredevil took the elevator down and Tony wished he could have seen the doorman’s face.

 

Tony laid on the floor beside Peter’s bed, listening to the heart monitor that Cho had set up for them. It lulled him slightly, hearing it. Listening and Peter was breathing and not dead, which was the victory for the day.

 

…

 

Peter thought he should be used to it by now: waking from drug induced sleeps.

 

But it never got easier, and the ache in his abdomen was enough to send his reeling. The room was dark, dark and maybe like the lab, but it didn’t smell like a gas line being broken or fire. It smelled like home and the windows were the same as his room in the penthouse, but the pain was real and tangible and Peter tried to sit up, hands going to the bandages around his abdomen, his other shoulder wrapped so tightly in its own fabric that he couldn’t even move it.

 

Peter let out a whimper, fingernails digging towards the pain, trying to shred open the wrappings. Like nothing had ever caused him more pain, but things had been worse. Everything had gone from dreamless and painless to fire in a matter of seconds and Peter was gasping, trying to draw air in his lungs.

 

_Connors isn’t here._

And he wasn’t. Peter had stabbed him through the chest.

 

Peter pushed himself upward, into a sitting position. A whole lot of nothing escaped his lips besides cries as something under the bandages pulled and it was like a hot iron being shoved into his skin. Tears formed and Peter gasped, hands shaking in the darkness above the bandages. He bit his lip, but that caused pain too, finding it to be split open and he remembered that vaguely, when it happened, the way his eyes had watered.

 

Movement to his left made him jump, a figure appearing, and hands wrapped around his wrists, stopping him from touching his wounds.

 

“Shhh, I know,” A familiar voice soothed, “I know.”

 

Peter looked up through the blur of his tears, making out Tony’s face.

 

“It _hurts_ ,” Peter sounded much too young to be himself and he thought maybe he had been put into a child’s body.

 

Tony sat down on the edge of the bed, not clicking on the lamp. He tried pushing Peter back down to lie on the mattress, but Peter didn’t budge, wrapping his arms around his middle as he tried to lean over and protect it.

 

Peter repeated, “It hurts.”

 

“I know, but if you just lay back-“

 

“I can’t _breathe_ like that.”

 

Tony said nothing in response and Peter shifted, but no position was comfortable. Everything was just painful and his shoulder ached deeply within. Peter’s body went sideways, falling against Tony heavily and the man grunted in surprise. Peter shut his eyes tightly, whispering, “What did he do?”

 

Tony sighed, “He stabbed you. Like what happened to Murdock.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened slightly…

 

“Woah.”

 

“ _Yeah_.”

 

The guilt crept in, slowly, like the pain. Peter pressed his palms to his eyes and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

 

There was a stunned silence and Peter continued, “I know I say that a lot, but I probably like…bled everywhere and stuff and I’m sorry, and I stabbed Connors and I-“

 

“Stop saying sorry.”

 

“But-“

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

Peter just nodded, moving to lie down on the mattress in a fetal position, body curled up tightly. Tony sighed, putting a hand on Peter’s arm. Peter knew what he was going to suggest, or say, or whatever. To try to get him to move into a better position to sleep. But Peter just shook his head, muttering under his breath, “I-I’m fine like this.”

 

It was odd, but it was the most relief. There was no telling how many pain meds that had pumped him with and his metabolism had run through them like nothing. Peter gripped the bedding tightly between his fingers, breathing through wave after wave of ache and pain and everything. Tony held his arm, just being there.

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony’s grip tightened slightly, “Yeah?”

 

“This is…a lot of pain, right? Or am I just whining right now?”

 

A startled sound escaped the man. Quiet. Then followed by a hurt response, “I don’t think you’re whining, kid. They were some pretty nasty wounds and they went deep.”

 

Another wave hit and Peter fought back the urge to just scream his head off in irritation because he was tired and he could sleep now, but he was hurting too much to drift back off. Whispering softly, he asked, “We still gonna have my birthday party in a few weeks?”

 

“If you want one,” Tony chuckled.

 

Peter laughed, but the pain etched into it made it almost cringe worthy to hear, “Ned and MJ are forcing me to have one…”

 

He paused.

 

It would be the first one without May. His first birthday with Tony and Pepper. And even though May had been gone for some time, there was something incredibly intimidating about the idea of her not being there with him. Not waking him that morning with annoying singing and forcing birthday pancakes onto his plate with one tiny candle on top. Letting him pick dinner, even though they got Thai every damn year because Peter struggled to branch out and he knew how much she loved it.

 

“Can I invite Harry, you think?”

 

He couldn’t see, but he was sure Tony had rolled his eyes…

 

“It’s your party, Pete.”

 

Peter would have laughed at the defeat in Tony’s voice if he didn’t know how badly it would hurt. So, he just smiled, ignoring the urge to chuckle, feeling as the pain returned and disappeared over and over again, as if going with his heartbeat. Just trotting along, because it didn’t know the kind of torture it caused him.

 

“Maybe a red and blue cake,” Peter tried to distract himself.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“Rarely.”

 

Peter’s hand squeezed and he asked, “Can you like…tell me something nice.”

 

“Something nice?”

 

“Yeah like…” Peter breathed, “A good story.”

 

It was asking a lot, but he just needed something…anything else to focus on. Tony was quiet a long time, and Peter thought maybe he wasn’t going to respond to the request. But the silence was just feeding the pain and he needed something to take that away, just briefly. Something good and happy and open.

 

“Alright…” Tony started, “There was this time Jarvis, the _real_ Jarvis, took me skiing and we saw three bears at once…and of course I tried to feed them…”

 

Peter shut his eyes, and grinned, despite the ache.

 

Maybe he _would_ turn sixteen and he’d still know Tony’s and Pepper’s faces.


	12. The Brief Epilogue that Ended With a Blue and Red Cake

Peter had expected his birthday to hurt.

 

The night before, he found himself bracing for an emotional impact that came whenever he realized something without Aunt May was going to happen. He had already experienced the first birthday without Ben and that in itself had been a massacre on his psyche, but Aunt May had made it fun. Had woken him with a pancake and a candle. Had rented tons of movies and invited Ned over. Then they had gone for Thai. It had been all the laziness and mourning wrapped into a happy package and something about it had been relieving.

 

Now Aunt May was gone. She had been gone for months and he was dreading that wound reopening and gushing all over the penthouse. His physical wounds from Connors had healed, besides his shoulder still needing a sling, but the inside wounds that Aunt May had left were threatening to tear again and Peter was terrified.

 

But then morning came.

 

Much to his relief, he wasn’t showered in gifts from Tony and Pepper. He had requested nothing for his birthday and had asked the two of them not to spend too much, even though he knew they desperately wanted to. But he had woken that morning, greeted with their smiles when he had entered the kitchen and waiting for him, were pancakes.

 

It didn’t hurt.

 

He felt May’s absence. Like a sore muscle in his chest, but that could have been blamed on his shoulder and sling. He knew what the pain was though, and still, it didn’t overwhelm him. He wasn’t swallowed by an unforgiving hurt. Reminding himself over and over that it was _okay_ to enjoy his sixteenth birthday. Because it would only happen once.

 

His gift was promised to arrive that night, at his party.

 

And truthfully, Peter hadn’t really wanted a party. But he knew that Aunt May would have never let him get away without having a sixteenth celebration and it was just his closest friends after all, along with Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, and even Happy made an appearance in the night, very briefly, to give him a card that sang the tune to “happy birthday”.

 

The cake was red and blue, too large, too _much_ for just the few of them that were there. But that was something Tony had insisted had to be great. He didn’t believe in sheet cakes after all. Those weren’t even cakes, in Tony’s opinion and Peter had argued that some of the greatest cakes were Walmart sheet cakes.

 

Three tiers.

 

All Peter could think, grinning, while they sang him happy birthday in the glow of the candles was that they were going to be eating red and blue birthday cake for weeks.

 

The chorus of it rang through the penthouse. Peter sat crouched in front of the coffee table where it had been moved to the center of the living room. To his left was MJ and to his right were Ned and Harry. The adults stood and Pepper had a camera and the normalcy of everything, the childishness of it, was endearing.

 

Peter craved normalcy like oxygen.

 

Like he had craved sleep so many weeks ago.

 

He adjusted his sling awkwardly, because it was always awkward when people sang, despite his sideways smile. Glancing at Tony who looked completely smug about his three-tiered cake, even if it was an oddity. That was endearing too and it felt like home. Like Queens. But he wasn’t in Queens and that was alright. This was home now too.

 

Peter supposed, it was alright to have more than one home.

 

It was alright to have more than two parents.

 

Life was impressive like that. Strange, but in the way that dreams happened and Peter was happy where he was. He felt May and Ben, deep in his chest, and they were no longer shrouded in that same guilt they had once been left in. Because he could not dwell. His dreams had made that clear to him. Funny thing was, he no longer felt the desire to do so.

 

“And many more!” Ned shouted at the end of the song and before Peter could even blink, MJ scooped icing onto her hand and sent it into Peter’s face.

 

“Jeez, you animal, some of us want to eat that,” Harry rolled his eyes, but the laugh didn’t go unnoticed. Peter scraped the icing off his cheek, letting out a loud cackle and the moment he went to wipe some on Harry, Tony sounded off, almost shrill enough to make Peter’s cackles grow louder.

 

Tony called, “Alright, I know the cake it great and everything, but I don’t particularly want in all over the penthouse.”

 

Peter opted to eat the icing instead, watching as Pepper began to cut the slices and hand them out. As Peter suspected, it was way too much, but he shoveled down three slices just to try and do his best and Ned helped him finish off a fourth. MJ ate two slices while Harry only ate one, because ‘MJ’s grubby fingers had been in the cake’.

 

The presents were unwrapped next and thankfully, Pepper and Tony didn’t pull out an assortment of gifts. Rhodey had bought him a military watch, which was freaking awesome and waterproof. When no one was paying attention, he whispered to Peter that it was very durable and would probably be good to avoid being late for curfew on patrol nights.

 

MJ’s gift consisted of several pamphlets of the best charities in the world and dates and times for important marches because Tony Stark’s adopted kid showing up for such as that would surely bring much needed attention to lesser known organizations. It was a weird gift, but Peter appreciated it anyway. Because it was her and the gift _screamed_ MJ.

 

Ned’s gift was a few brain games and a sewing kit as a sort of ‘gag’ gift. Because even though _that_ entire night had been traumatizing, the fact that Ned had vomited was a running joke between the two. MJ and Harry looked confused. Pepper and Rhodey looked almost horrified and Tony looked completely unamused. But the boys found it worthy of a giggle and that was all that mattered.

 

Harry’s gift was even more horrifying in the sense that it was a _live_ gift. Jimmy, to be specific, sitting in a box punctured with airholes. Ned had let out a small shriek, and MJ had gone on a tangent about the cruelty of animal experimentation. Tony had vehemently denied letting Peter keep the animal until Harry looked at him with a serious expression.

 

“My dad won’t let him stay in the house ‘cause he sucks.”

 

And Tony, being ever competitive with Norman in order to be a ‘cooler’ parent, glared.

 

“Fine. It can stay.”

 

All in all, Peter appreciated the mundaneness of it all, even if one of his gifts was a mammal-reptile hybrid that ate insects and crackers for dinner. The group of teenagers set up a game of poker, without real money, because Pepper just would _not_ have actual gambling going on in the penthouse. Especially with teenagers.

 

They were about twenty minutes into the game when Tony called him into the hallway.

 

There was a part of Peter that just assumed that it was getting too late, and that Tony wanted to send his friends home. But the moment he rounded the corner into the hall, he knew it was a lot more than that, just by the serious expression on Tony’s face as he had his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth awkwardly. Peter’s brows tugged together curiously.

 

He asked, “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing, kid,” Tony said, “Just gotta give you your present.”

 

Peter clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, “I told you not to get me anything. You already pay for so much and-“

 

Tony held up a hand to stop him, raising an eyebrow and Peter understood the silent words. That Peter was supposed to be taken care of because he wasn’t eighteen yet and wasn’t expected to keep himself fed and clothed and a roof over his head. But he was sixteen, and sometimes it was hard for Peter to remember that. Because his life had felt so long. He felt so old sometimes, and then other times, so young.

 

Reaching into his pocket, Tony pulled out a small, oval object.

 

Peter blinked.

 

“Is that an egg?”

 

Tony scoffed, the oval object glimmering in the lighting. Tony handed it over and Peter studied it. It was cold and metal, and didn’t seem useful in the slightest. But Tony’s things were often deceiving in their simplicity. So there had to be something about it…

 

“Squeeze the edges.”

 

The order filtered in and Peter blinked a few times. Tony gestured for him to proceed, growing impatient with the boy’s hesitance, as if it was going to shock him or something. Adjusting his arm in the sling for a moment, he used his good hand to squeeze the egg. There was a small humming sound, making Peter jump slightly as the top lit up blue, and out shone what seemed to be a hologram. He stared a few moments, processing what he was looking at, four faces coming into view…

 

Peter’s eyes widened.

 

Shown on the hologram, clearer than any picture Peter had ever seen…Were the smiling face of Ben, May, Mary, and Richard. May was wearing her white wedding dress, the four of them posing with champagne in their hands. Peter felt a lump form in his throat, but he was quick to clear it, allowing his thoughts to catch up with the emotions rushing through his body. They looked so happy, so beautiful, and Peter remembered the picture suddenly as one that had been in the living room.

 

Tony spoke, obviously hesitant in his explanation…

 

“You said…you were having trouble remembering what they looked like. So, I thought, you know, I’d take one of their pictures, clear it up, make it more… _real_ than just having a photo.”

 

Peter felt as his chest tightened, eyes not leaving the photo. His vision began to blur, but it wasn’t pain he was feeling when he looked at all of their faces, smiling together. It was…familiar. Something to grasp and to hold and there was happiness there because they had lived good lives. Lives full of joy and smiles and Peter had gotten to be a part of that.

 

He had gotten to live there, at some point, with them, in the serenity.

 

A tear slipped through and Peter wiped in away and Tony looked worried. But Peter smiled, a smile that matched Mary’s. He rubbed his sleeve over his face, shifting the egg to his bad hand. The picture disappeared and Peter looked up at Tony, the blue hue gone. Letting out a small laugh that sounded like a breath, Peter responded so softly, he could barely hear it himself.

 

“Thank you, Tony.”

 

And he knew it was the first time he had ever uttered that name towards the man himself. The first time the title ‘mister’ wasn’t tied to ‘Stark’. But it was right and natural and that was all Peter had been waiting for. Because for so long, there had been that distance. That distance of ‘this man adopted me, but he’s still my boss’. Now though… _now_ he had slipped into that world of Peter’s parentage. Of knowing that connection with them would never die.

 

Tony’s face looked surprised, then relaxed into the shake of his head, lip turning upward. He opened his mouth to respond, but Peter leaned forward quickly, wrapping his good arm around the man’s neck and hugging him as tightly as he could muster. The boy whispered again, “Thank you _so_ much.”

 

The man let out a breath, almost seeming startled, “You’re welcome, Peter.”

 

He returned the hug, patting Peter’s back firmly.

 

Peter decided then that it was the greatest gift he had ever received. And maybe it was a sign that sixteen would be better. Better than fifteen had been. He finished his game of poker and Tony volunteered Happy to bring Peter’s friends home and Happy probably only agreed because it was Peter’s birthday after all.

 

Life felt like a high and Peter sat in the living room, Tony and Pepper having gone to bed some hours ago, staring at the leftover cake in front of him. Because he had stuffed himself with two more slices and the sugar was rushing through him. He just wasn’t yet ready for bed, but not in the Quiet way, but in the happiness way. The blue hue filled the dimly lit living room and he just stared at the picture of his two sets of parents while he listened to the heartbeats of his new ones sleeping down the hallway.

 

Peter focused on Richard, Mary, and Ben…

 

“You would love them,” Peter murmured, “Well…Tony would have to grow on you guys…but I think you’d _learn_ to love him. May did.”

 

Peter loved being able to breathe.

 

Being able to draw air in and out of his lungs with ease.

 

He had been nervous, for the party. For it all. Because Tony had wanted to buy so much, but in the end he had listened and the greatest gift had come from it. And it felt like they were really in the room. 3D and real. Peter paused suddenly though, staring through the blue hue when an orange dot began to glow through it and out on the terrace. Peter shut the picture off, standing and slipping the egg into his pocket.

 

Peter slowly crept towards the sliding door.

 

It opened with ease, and there appeared to be nothing on the terrace besides a small cupcake sitting on the breakfast table with a lit candle on top.

 

Peter’s brows furrowed, and he moved to pick it up, studying the dessert. Underneath it was a napkin with a quick message etched across it in dark ink…

 

_‘Happy birthday, kid. Glad to hear you’re doing better. Stay out of my hair, will ya? You tend to make it fall out with all the stress you cause me.’_

_-D.D._

 

Peter laughed.

 

Right. He was ‘friends’ with Daredevil.

 

Badass.

 

...

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! I'm so sad that this story has come to an end. But it has been a wild ride, writing both part one and two. I'm so happy to have done this and even more happy to have gotten to have this journey with you wonderful readers. 
> 
> I know the epilogue was a bit short, but I felt like the brevity of it tied it together better than the longer draft. 
> 
> I love you all so, so much! And I'm just so grateful for all of you who took the time to read this all the way through. You're wonderful individuals. I love you guys!!! ❤


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